


Sharpened Claws

by tragicama



Series: Sharpened Claws [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Begging, Bottom Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a dick, Detective Sam Wilson, Detective Steve Rogers, Domestic Boyfriends, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Explicit Sexual Content, Glowing Werewolf Eyes, Healthy Relationships, Human Sam Wilson, Human Steve Rogers, Human/Werewolf Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Bucky Barnes, M/M, Mates, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Pack Politics, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rimming, Romantic Fluff, Size Kink, Soulmates, Steve Looks Post-Serum But Is Human/Non-Serum, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Top Bucky Barnes, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Werewolf Culture, alexander pierce is a dick, brief appearance of Peggy Carter, not a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 181,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25419712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragicama/pseuds/tragicama
Summary: Steve Rogers has a unique talent of getting himself into danger. As one of New York City’s best homicide detectives, it isn’t easy to ignore the constant call of trouble and gore. At least, that’s what he tries to tell his overprotective and brooding boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, even if he knows it might be a lie.Bucky is dangerous, gorgeous. . .and a werewolf. As the Alpha of New York City, he is easily considered the most powerful being in the world. But when Bucky begins to lose his control over his shift, he slowly becomes aware of a bond that sends him reeling, and one he’d never thought possible.But everything is not as it seems. After a homicide case unleashes a sequence of events that neither Steve nor Bucky are prepared for, they soon find themselves entangled with a danger that threatens to rip them apart. With the help of Steve’s partner and best friend, Sam, Bucky and Steve navigate a dark web of pack politics, masquerade balls, and a crash course in what it means to be a pack, even as a greater danger looms. And one that might succeed in ripping them apart.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Series: Sharpened Claws [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923253
Comments: 88
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quick notes before reading:
> 
> Hello! I cannot believe that I am finally posting this! I've been writing this story for almost six months, and now it's finally complete! Thank you so much to my amazing roommate and best friend, Courtney, for putting up with my constant ramblings about this. You really are a saint.
> 
> As said in the tags, I will be posting more warnings and tags as I add more chapters to this work. Because this story is so huge, I will be posting it in parts. With that being said, this story is actually complete. In short, I'll be posting chapters every week. I've got a tentative chapter count set up right now, but it might change as I post more and more chapters. 
> 
> Also, this story is not an A/B/O story. Bucky is an Alpha werewolf, and more of the pack dynamics are explained as the story goes. 
> 
> For your discretion, please heed the tags. There isn't anything overtly too violent in this story, but it's there. I'll be posting more warnings as I go. Please be cautious of your own safety and triggers. Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I would like to point out that Bucky and Steve are in a very healthy relationship. Bucky is possessive and territorial because he is a werewolf, but he does not and will not control Steve in any type of way. This story depicts a relationship that does not involve unhealthy possessiveness, but please read with caution if you find that topic to be a trigger.
> 
> I do not give permission for my work to be posted to goodreads or any other website.

_“In the calm, deep waters of the mind, the wolf waits.” — F.T. McKinstry_

“That suspect was literally a dick, Steve,” Sam says harshly as he steps out of Steve’s Camaro. He huffs roughly, slamming the car door and pitching up his voice, mockingly saying, “ _‘Kind of a turn on.’_ Who says that when they’re getting arrested?”

Steve glances at him and chuckles, shaking his head as he presses the button on his keys to lock his car. “It’s not like he _asked_ for the cuffs, Sam,” he replies, sheepish.

“The guy was an asshole, Steve! That’s a form of sexual harassment! Propositioning a police officer!”

Steve brings his hand up to quickly squeeze Sam’s shoulder as they step out into the street, saying softly, “It’s alright, Sam. I don’t care what idiots like that say about me, just as long as I’m allowed to make the arrest when they think they’re being slick.”

Steve drops his hand to rest at his side, but Sam still looks angry. “That’s cute, Steve.” He scoffs, then sighs when Steve just eyes him patiently out of the corner of his eye. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it for now. At least I know a douche when I see one. You’re so fucking self-righteous you can’t even see when a dick like that is flirting with you.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve told me that, and it won’t be the last,” Steve replies, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“It’s the truth, Steve. Bucky’s turning you soft,” Sam says, looking at him with an accusing lilt of his eyebrows.

Bucky, as brooding, stoic, and grumpy as he is, probably _does_ have an overarching role to play in how Steve’s softened over the years, but it has more to do with their shared love and affection for each other and how Bucky’s cold to everyone but Steve, with the miniscule exception of Sam sometimes, than it does with Bucky actually making Steve a nicer person when he was already a pretty generous guy to begin with.

If anything, Steve’s been the one to melt some of that hard-exterior Bucky’s been guarding himself with that predates way back before they even met. Bucky’s loving and gentle and the sweetest boyfriend on this earth, but he’s also the grumpiest and most stoic person Steve’s ever met. It all just adds more to Bucky’s allure, and Steve loves him all the same.

Steve just chuckles again, shrugging his shoulders when Sam gives him another look. “I seem to recall you telling me that he was ‘the best thing that ever happened to me,’” he says, but he’s got that small, private smile on his face he gets whenever he thinks of his boyfriend, and Sam looks at him with a smirk, playfully shoving him towards the middle of the street.

“I was drunk at the time, and so were _you_ , smartass. But I said what I said,” Sam responds, nodding his head vehemently, and Steve chuckles once more. “And I’m going to enjoy it immensely when you tell him that some asshole told you that you had cocksucking lips.”

Steve grimaces, shaking his head. He definitely will _not_ be telling Bucky about that.

“I’m not going to tell him that,” Steve replies, wrinkling his nose. He shoves Sam back, giving him a playful stern look. “And neither are you.”

Sam just mimes zipping his lips shut, and they both laugh when Steve rolls his eyes.

They approach the sidewalk now and greeting them is yellow crime scene tape and a bunch of uniformed officers keeping the public away from the door of a Hilton Hotel in downtown Manhattan.

“Special Crimes,” Steve says, his playful and joking exterior shifting into his serious and professional persona, waving his detective badge to a nearby officer, who lifts the yellow tape up for him and Sam to walk through.

Behind them, five or six squad cars all with their lights blaring reflect off the glass doors of the entrance to the hotel. There’s an ambulance parked in front of the doors, and Steve can see the coroner’s van parked catty-corner to the sidewalk.

Steve beats Sam to the door, opening it for him and then stepping in after. “So, what’s wrong with me being happy?”

“Ugh, nothing, Steve. I’m happy that you’re happy. But I’m on a cleanse right now, and seeing you and Bucky together, acting all lovesick and everything, makes me jealous.”

Steve looks at Sam then, puzzled, eyes flickering down to Sam’s button down and jeans. He looks no different from what Steve’s used to, and he knows Sam’s got the physique of a fit police detective hiding beneath his clothes. They both do. With a job like this, constantly running around the greater downtown area of Brooklyn, they both need to be in top shape. But Sam definitely doesn’t need to lose _weight_. “A cleanse?” he asks, confused. “From what?”

“Women,” Sam says, and Steve bites his lip to stop from chuckling a little, having not expected that reply but knowing that it’s completely valid.

Sam has kind of always had a bad track record with women. It’s no surprise to Steve that he’s finally swearing off problematic gals in his life, even though Steve’s been telling him that since they were in high school together.

“Well, that’s good. You can be my date to Peggy’s engagement party,” Steve shrugs, following Sam deeper into the hotel. Sam probably missed what he was saying, however, because the immediate loud noises of people moving throughout the building that greets them has Steve wincing slightly.

Sam leads them as they walk back towards the women’s restroom, where the rest of the detectives from their precinct are moving in and out of.

They walk behind an opaque wall that transitions into a waterfall, and the sight that greets Steve has his heart plummet in sympathy. There are forensic markers on the ground and around three of the six sinks in the bathroom, and small, red sticky tapes are pointing at spots that Steve knows is most likely blood. A forensic technician stifles through his forensic case and pulls out a camera, where he begins photographing the reason Steve and Sam are at a nice hotel in the middle of Manhattan at one in the morning.

In the middle of the floor, limbs twisted up and eyes staring forever forward, is a woman, no more than thirty years old, cold and dead on the bathroom tile.

“Emergency services got a call off her cell at 8:32pm tonight. No recording,” Sam says, slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves, before handing a pair to Steve.

Steve accepts them with a quick _thanks_ , snapping the gloves on his hands as he bends down to take in the victim’s injuries. “Blunt trauma to the head,” he says, taking a quick glance around. “No wallet, no I.D., no hotel key.”

“Robbery/homicide?” Sam voices, tilting his head to the side questioningly.

Steve shakes his head and glances around the victim’s body again. She’s wearing expensive clothing, Steve notices — a beige peacoat and expensive looking pearls and an equally flagrant black dress. One of her Louboutin heels has fallen off her feet, most likely due to a struggle, but the other remains securely fastened to her small foot, looking impeccable in the surprisingly light and opulent bathroom lighting.

“Why would the perp leave behind a Louis Vuitton bag?” Steve asks, grabbing the woman’s purse and holding it up for Sam to see. “You know how much these things cost?”

“No, and not every robber knows they’re Louis Vuitton,” Sam shrugs, snapping his glove.

“I knew it was a Louis,” a voice says, and Steve looks over towards the entrance of the bathroom to see a hotel security guard shrugging. His eyes flicker back to Sam, and he smirks. Sam just rolls his eyes.

“Regardless,” Steve says, shifting back into a serious tone as he stands up from where he’s been crouched down, “it’s a pretty public place to rob and kill someone.”

“And this is a five-star hotel,” The security guard says, again shrugging.

“Can we get some five-star service, then, and maybe take a look at some security footage?” Sam replies, crossing his arms and facing the security guard. “Yeah? Great.”

Sam walks out of the bathroom after the security guard, turning back with a dramatic, petulant look in Steve’s direction, and Steve just chuckles as he leaves.

He glances down at the victim again and takes in her bruised arms and tousled blonde hair. She’s been through hell, Steve can tell, just by the way her eyes are pinched at the corners, even in death. The flash from another techie’s camera startles him out of his daze a moment later, and he’s up and out of the room a second later, following the sounds of Sam and the security guard.

When Steve enters the lobby, he sees Sam and the security guard huddled behind the guest check-in desk, and Steve walks around the desk to stand by Sam’s side, hunching down to get a good look at the video.

The video is grainy at best, but Steve clearly sees the victim stumbling against the walls leading back to the bathroom, where she almost collapses as she disappears behind the waterfall.

“An injured woman walks into a hotel and no one even blinks. You gotta love New York,” Steve scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "So, where’s our bad guy?” he asks, sharing a look with Sam.

“That we don’t know, but CSUs did I.D. the vic off cell records,” a voice says, and both Steve and Sam look up, past the desk, where Lieutenant Natasha Romanoff leans against the top of the marble tile.

“Lieutenant,” Steve and Sam say in unison, nodding at her.

“Wilson, Rogers,” she acknowledges back, giving them her patented boss lady serious face.

They’ve all been friends for a few years now, and Natasha is someone Steve sees equally as his best friend, like Sam, but she’s also his boss, so he always acts accordingly when their conversations turn professional.

“Her name is Carol Danvers, and she’s not a hotel guest,” Natasha continues, nodding at the footage that’s paused on the victim’s face.

Sam nods, looking up from his phone in his hands. “Google says she’s executive editor of a magazine called _Kree_. Some kind of beauty tabloid.”

“She have a husband? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Steve asks.

“Says here she’s got a wife. Captain Maria Rambeau,” Sam reads off, scrolling through an article. “She's some kind of hotshot captain in the Air Force. They’re basically a page six power couple.”

Steve gives him a confused look, not understanding the reference, and asks, “So where’s Captain Powerful now?”

“No one has been able to track her down,” Natasha supplies, crossing her arms and standing completely.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us yeah, Steve?” Sam says, pocketing his phone and giving a nudge to Steve’s overly muscular left shoulder.

Steve bites back a sigh, already feeling the gnawing of exhaustion creeping at the back of his head and tries to resolutely shake himself and settle in for the long night ahead of them.

“Not tonight, you don’t,” Natasha cuts in before Steve can respond. “Get come rest and head over to _Kree Magazine_ in the morning to interview Mrs. Danvers’s coworkers. See if you can dig up anything on the wife, too.”

“Copy that, Lieutenant,” Steve says, not bothering to hide the gratefulness of his tone, and Sam gives her a mock salute. “See you tomorrow, Nat.”

Natasha waves at them before they both turn around and head out the front of the hotel towards Steve’s Camaro.

“Man, this night’s been long,” Sam says once they’re both seated, and Steve starts the car.

Steve nods, agreeing. “I hate to see someone so young end up like that.”

Sam sighs, “Me, too.”

They head back towards the thick of Brooklyn, making idle conversation just to keep the other one awake. Sam’s head starts drooping somewhere past the Brooklyn Bridge and Dumbo, and by the time they’ve reached Atlantic Ave. and Boerum Hill, Sam’s eyes are closed, and his breaths are deep.

Steve hates waking him, but they pull into the precinct parking lot, where Sam’s car is waiting to take him home back to his place in Park Slope. He looks peaceful, though, and Steve immediately feels bad when he quietly says, “Sam,” and Sam’s eyes open quickly and he shoots up from his place in the passenger seat.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Sam says apologetically, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve says, eyeing Sam’s tired eyes and slumped posture. “Are you sure you should be driving like this?”

“Yes, _mom_ , I’ll be fine,” Sam replies, giving Steve a nudge.

“Seriously, Sam. I’d feel better if you just crashed at mine tonight. And then we can go straight over to _Kree Magazine_ tomorrow without having to fool around with meeting back here. I know you have extra clothes in your car.”

“Steve. . .” Sam sighs, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to intrude on you and your boy.”

“Bucky won’t mind, Sam, I promise. He’s your friend, too, and he cares about your wellbeing like I do.”

Sam gives him a look, and Steve chuckles.

“I might care about it more,” Steve relents, “but, seriously, he won’t mind.”

Sam gives him another look, “Steve — ”

“C’mon, Sam, it’ll be like old times, like when we were kids,” Steve says, shaking Sam’s shoulder. “You’re clearly too tired to drive, and I’m too tired to argue more with you, so just agree.”

Sam exhales roughly through his nostrils, chuckling. “God, you are such a stubborn asshole.”

Steve grins.

—

The next morning, Steve wakes before Sam, moving out into his spacious living room as he pulls on a long sleeve blue shirt and stifles a yawn.

He sees Sam’s huddled up form on the couch, face peaceful in sleep, and goes to turn on the coffee machine.

They’ve both got to head out in about forty-five minutes, but that’s enough time for the both of them to shower and enjoy a hot cup of coffee.

Steve can hear Sam shuffling on the couch from where he’s leaning against the counter in the kitchen, and he pauses in his actions of setting a k-cup in the Keurig when he hears he and Bucky's bedroom door open.

“Why are you on my couch?” comes the voice Steve was waiting to hear a moment later, confusion ladled with Bucky’s usual deep tenor after just waking up.

Bucky had already been asleep when Steve and Sam had walked into Steve and Bucky’s brownstone, trying to keep quiet so as not to wake any of their neighbors. It had been somewhat puzzling that Bucky hadn’t waited up for Steve like he normally does when Steve works late, but Steve also didn’t get back to their shared apartment until nearly two in the morning last night, and Bucky had been up early for his shift at his garage yesterday morning.

Sam hadn’t even made it to one of their many guest bedrooms before he’d curled onto the couch and passed out. Steve had just tossed a blanket over him, retreated quickly to he and Bucky’s bedroom, and crawled into their bed hastily, letting Bucky wrap his arms around him in his sleep.

“Good morning to you too, Bucky,” Steve can hear Sam reply, sounding groggy but trying to come off as chipper just to mess with Bucky.

Even from the next room over in the kitchen, Steve can hear the way Bucky growls.

There’s shuffling and a lot of movement, and Steve becomes mildly concerned — debating if that growl had been a bad growl or just a _I’m playing around_ one — until he sees the kitchen door swing open, where Sam walks in and rubs his eyes tiredly, and Bucky follows in after him, shirtless and rumpled from just waking up, but still looking so gorgeous in the early sunlight that he makes Steve’s heart flutter.

“Jesus, you’re growly in the morning,” Sam says, moving past Steve from where he’s leaned against the island, fist bumping him as he passes, and opens the cabinet housing Steve and Bucky’s dishware to get down a bowl to make himself a bowl of cereal.

Steve watches as Bucky stares at Sam from the other side of the island, flashing his eyes red in warning when Sam looks back at him, but Sam just rolls his eyes dramatically. Sam’s told Steve multiple times that Bucky does that to him often enough that Sam’s lost all intimidation from it.

The thing is — Bucky, Steve’s wonderful, magnificent, smart, caring, loving, _frustrating hot and sexy boyfriend_ and the love of his life, is a werewolf.

And Steve and Sam are the only ones who know.

Steve and Sam had actually met Bucky coincidentally on a case three and a half years ago, where Bucky’s cross-species DNA had showed up as a hit through CODIS on the murder of a club bouncer. He’d saved a woman who’d been drugged with a date-rape narcotic, smelling the foul powder when he’d walked past the open club doors.

An altercation had occurred, and Bucky had bled all over the club floor, allowing Steve, Sam, and the forensic team to obtain multiple samples of his blood. He was cleared as a suspect, though, when Steve and Sam had interviewed him and found no injuries on his person, due to his enhanced werewolf healing that Steve hadn’t known about at the time of the crime. With Bucky's help, Steve was able to debunk and _accidentally_ contaminate Bucky’s wolfy DNA so that it was no longer in the system and wouldn’t show up again if he had managed to get in any more legal trouble in the future.

At the time, Steve hadn’t known what had driven him to help Bucky. Maybe it was the way Bucky had saved the life of an innocent eighteen-year kid. Maybe it was because Steve’s heart had skipped a beat when he first saw Bucky’s eyes bleed that fluorescent red. Or, maybe it was because he hadn’t been afraid when Bucky wolfed out around him that first time, when the adrenaline was flowing high and their argument over Steve’s involvement in Bucky’s life caused Bucky’s claws to sprout from his fingernails and his entire face to shift.

Regardless, Steve doesn’t remember his reasons for helping Bucky. Nor does he remember what drew him to Bucky in the first place. Or the many times thereafter.

Now, they’ve been together for three years, living together just shy of two and a half.

Sam had discovered Bucky’s secret accidentally, of course, even though Bucky had decided to finally tell him only a few days before he’d been exposed. He’d finally felt comfortable enough around Sam that keeping his secret was starting to become too draining. Bucky knew that he could trust him, and he knew that Sam was a part of Steve’s family, too. Bucky knew that asking Steve to keep his secret from Sam wasn’t fair, that it was eating him up inside, and they’d talked for hours about it late one night. Steve didn’t want Bucky to feel obligated to tell Sam just for Steve’s sake, and didn’t want to force him to do anything just to make Steve feel like he wasn’t lying to his best friend anymore. Bucky had assured him that he wanted to tell Sam, that he knew that Sam was just as important in Steve’s life as Bucky was and shouldn’t have to keep something this important hidden anymore.

They were both nervous as to what Sam’s reaction was going to be, but neither one of them were able to tell Sam on their own terms.

Just seven months into their relationship, a suspect had broken Steve’s leg when he’d been flung from a rooftop after chasing a psychiatric patient that had murdered his mother by disembowelment. The suspect repeatedly claimed it was an accident, that he was having a psychotic break, but Steve had been pushed off a twenty-foot building and landed on top of a car and broke his left fibula in half. The suspect received ten more years to his sentence for injuring a police officer.

Sam had cried in the hospital, blaming himself for checking out the rest of the dilapidated warehouse instead of following Steve up the stairs like he should have. Steve had just gripped Sam’s shoulder and grimaced through the removal of a shard of glass and the subsequent fifteen stitches a resident had sewed into his right hand, not wanting to show that he was hurting like hell.

“ _It’s just me here, man. You can let yourself be in pain_ ,” Sam had said, holding Steve’s hand when the orthopedic surgeon cast his leg and reset the cartilage of his knee.

Under the influence of the high doses of pain medication he’d been intravenously given, it had somehow slipped Steve’s mind to call ahead to Bucky and let him know that not only would he be late getting home, but that he’d also been seriously injured and declared off-duty until his leg healed.

When Bucky had seen them — Steve, with a deep gash across his left cheek, hand mangled and somewhat bandaged, looking fucking gone from the pain medication working its way through him, great big white cast from the left knee down and Sam, helping to support Steve on his crutches, hands on Steve's sides, guilt written all over his face — he’d absolutely _lost_ it.

“ _Oh my,_ God _, Steve, are you_ okay _?_ ” He’d practically shouted, immediately shuffling back to let them through the door. When Steve was within his reach, he’d grabbed a hold of him as gently as he could and placed him softly onto the couch.

He was rounding on Sam in seconds. _“What the_ fuck _happened?”_

_“A suspect we were chasing pushed him off a building,”_ Sam had replied, needing to clear his throat twice before continuing. _“He’s pretty banged up.”_

_“What the fuck?”_ Bucky had gasped sullenly, and Steve could see the love, concern, and anger in his beautiful gray eyes.

_“I’m alright, Buck,”_ Steve said groggily, head lolling back against the couch. _“Just hurts a bit."_

_“Who the fuck was it?”_ Bucky had asked harshly, his breathing picking up. _“Who pushed him off a goddamn building?”_

_“The suspect is in custody now, Bucky,”_ Sam had replied, head downtrodden and gaze fixed on the floor. _“He’s going away for a long time.”_

Bucky was breathing deeply now, worked up and enraged. Even in his loopy state of mind, Steve could tell that Bucky’s eyes were beginning to start bleeding in and out of that piercing red.

_“Bucky, baby, I’m okay. You’ve got to calm down,”_ Steve had said, starting to get a little panicked.

Bucky was rapidly losing his grasp on his control, something that rarely ever happened to him. Bucky never shifted unless he _wanted_ to. He’d been born a werewolf, taught to control his shift from an early age, to find his anchor to latch onto so he could focus enough to pull himself back.

But Bucky is also an Alpha werewolf, a hundred times stronger than the normal beta he’d once been. He’d never been prepared for the power he now possessed, but he learned to utilize it effortlessly. All of that power is sometimes hard for him to handle, but he was _always_ in control himself.

Except, apparently, when it came to Steve.

Sam had looked up from guiltily staring at the floor, glancing from Steve’s concerned face to Bucky’s, and he bit back a gasp at what he saw. Bucky’s eyes were glowing bright red, wolf ears elongated, and canine fangs bared. His fingernails had shifted into long claws, and he looked absolutely _murderous._

_“I’m going to rip that guy’s throat out_ with my teeth _,”_ Bucky had growled, animalistic, only it came out slightly muffled around the fucking canine fangs in his mouth.

_“What the fuck!”_ Sam exclaimed, looking to Steve in alarm. Steve didn’t look perplexed, alarmed, or scared. No, he was concerned. Like he was worried about getting Bucky to calm down, and not the fucking. . .whatever the fuck Bucky had just shifted into towering over him from his place on the couch.

Bucky was openly growling menacingly as he paced in front of the couch, and somewhere in the very back of Sam’s mind, something had just kind of clicked. Bucky had always been a growly and broody type of guy, but Sam had never guessed the reason was because of whatever _this_ was.

_“Bucky,”_ Steve had said softly, trying to sound level-headed but failing at the airy tone his voice took, _“please calm down, baby. Everything’s alright, and I’m right here with you. I’m okay, I promise.”_

Sam was outright staring now, unsure if he should grab Steve and get the hell out of this situation, because Steve didn’t seem afraid at all. No, the bastard was trying to _get up and move_ towards where Bucky was standing, struggling to get his broken leg to cooperate, letting out pained groans and gasps.

The sound of Steve's pain seemed to be what Bucky needed to shake himself from his anger, and then he was at Steve’s side and supporting him before Sam could even blink or move to help Steve to stay still, wolfed out and all. Bucky was careful to keep his sharp claws away from Steve’s body, and he was staring deeply into Steve’s eyes.

Then Steve did the absolute _weirdest thing ever_ and moved Bucky’s right clawed hand off his arm and brought it to rest right over his heart.

It seemed like hours had gone by, but within minutes, Bucky’s face slowly shifted back to his usual brooding frown, his canines retracted, his claws disappeared back into his fingernails, and his eyes slowly slipped back into his normal, familiar gray irises.

_“I’m sorry,”_ Bucky had said quietly, rubbing his hand over Steve’s heart, like he was making sure it still beat underneath his palm.

A few seconds of silence had passed, and then Steve and Bucky’s eyes quickly snapped to Sam.

_“Sam — ”_ Steve started, but wasn’t able to continue.

_“What the fuck, man? What the fuck was that?”_ Sam had said, his panicked voice betraying how freaked out he was.

_“I’m a werewolf,”_ Bucky said calmly, still rubbing his hand over Steve’s chest.

_“No fucking shit, man. Just — what the fuck?”_

Sam had a lot of questions that night, and Bucky sat and dutifully answered them for the better part of two hours, religiously checking on Steve as he leaned against Bucky’s side and dozed in and out of the conversation.

Bucky’s veins had started turning an oily black from underneath his pale skin a few minutes after Sam had calmed down enough to sit on the sofa adjacent to them, and Sam had about jumped out of his skin when he’d noticed. Bucky just looked up at him from where he’d been sitting with Steve on the couch, where Steve was practically laying in his lap — oversized and all — and calmly explained that he was taking Steve’s pain away, that he was literally removing it from his body by leaching it out through his skin.

Sam had decided right then when Steve had just relaxed further into Bucky’s body, face no longer twisted up in agony, that no matter what was going to happen with the knowledge he had that his best friend's boyfriend was a werewolf, he was going to support them endlessly.

After almost two hours of questioning Bucky on his wolfy proclivities — _“Do you howl at the full moon?” “No.” And, God, what a lie what one was,_ Steve thought. _“Do you grow into a giant wolf?” “No.” “Where do your eyebrows go when your face gets all wolfy?”_ “Sam. _”_ — Sam was finally appeased and was confident that Steve wouldn’t get maimed if he left him in Bucky’s care, and finally left them in peace after swearing he wouldn’t tell anyone about Bucky’s secret.

It was a testament to how much Sam had trusted Steve that he hadn’t completely freaked out and ran before either Steve or Bucky could explain what had happened. When Steve had asked him about it much later, Sam told him that no matter how freaked out he’d been in the moment, he would never be able to leave Steve behind if Sam thought he was actually in danger. With the way Steve had been acting while Bucky was wolfed out, Sam had realized that there was much more going on than what he’d been exposed to, and he wasn’t about to leave until he absolutely knew that Steve and Bucky were safe.

Steve’s leg had healed over the course of two months, and he was able to return to duty after a couple of days of catching up on paperwork with Sam.

It had taken a few weeks for Sam to adjust to suddenly being in the know, where Bucky acted normally as a werewolf — like growling more and flashing his eyes and baring his canines more — for Sam to get used to being close friends with a werewolf. Learning about Bucky’s enhanced hearing had made Sam feel guilty when he’d asked Steve if he was totally sure that he felt safe enough to live with a werewolf, completely oblivious that Bucky could hear their conversation as clearly as if he’d been standing right next to them from where he was actually sitting on the couch in the next room over. The first time Bucky had scented him — because Bucky’s extremely territorial around the people closest to him — Sam had jumped dramatically until he realized what was happening, that Bucky wasn’t trying to rip him apart with his claws.

They’ve even gotten a lot closer now, much to Steve’s continued relief. They had gotten along fine before Sam had found out, but it took both Sam and Bucky months to warm up to each other when Bucky and Steve had first started their relationship, and Steve was grateful that it seemed like they were closer than ever.

Sam’s used to how Bucky acts now, so Steve knows that Sam’s just trying to mess with Bucky because they literally act like bickering siblings sometimes when Sam just looks towards Bucky on the island and wiggles his eyebrows mockingly when Bucky growls at him again. Sam has told Steve on many occasions that he's practically immune to all of Bucky’s wolfy mannerisms now.

So — the growling, the flashy red, luminescent eyes, the claws, baring his teeth — are all a part of Bucky’s normal behavior that Steve's been accustomed to for three and a half years now and don't affect Steve, and by extension, Sam, one bit.

“That’s kind of true, Buck,” Steve says, ripping himself from his train of thought and taking a sip of his coffee. Bucky’s eyes snap to his, and the red disappears from them completely as Bucky looks at him. Steve just smiles, grabbing the newly filled mug of coffee from underneath the Keurig and handing it out towards Bucky’s direction. “You _are_ pretty growly in the morning.”

“I like sleeping in,” Bucky replies, graciously accepting the cup of coffee Steve’s offering him as he settles next to Steve’s side, giving one more menacing glare to Sam over the rim of the mug.

Sam scoffs, “I’m immune to those glares, Barnes.” He points his spoon. “And I didn’t wake you up!”

“The bed was cold,” Bucky mumbles behind the brim, quiet so Sam doesn’t hear. Steve hears him, though, and smiles fondly before affectionately rubbing his shoulder with his boyfriend’s.

Bucky smiles behind the mug, reaching a hand out to rub the space between Steve’s neck and collar bone, scent marking him. An affectionate gesture, but even more meaningful because of the fact that Bucky’s _scenting_ Steve, so that he’ll smell like Bucky.

Bucky’s huge on scenting Steve however and whenever he can. From what Steve understands and from what Bucky’s told him, scent means everything to werewolves, as a way to establish their territory, but also as a way to show affection. And the fact that he’s so insistent on making sure he’s marked Steve as often as he can makes Steve’s heart flutter. He knows what that gesture means, and how romantic it is.

And Sam, bless him, knows it, too.

“I cannot handle you two acting all lovey-dovey this early in the morning,” Sam sighs, scraping his spoon against the bottom of the bowl.

“Get a girlfriend,” Bucky says, thumb rubbing softly against Steve’s clavicle. “Then you can bother her in the mornings instead of us.” He shrugs and doesn’t elaborate further.

Bucky’s not particularly friendly with anyone except Steve, but Steve knows that he and Sam just like to joke with each other, that they’re actually really good friends now and not just putting on a show for Steve’s sake. Steve can tell by their easy banter and how Bucky actively makes conversation with him. It’s early in the morning, though, and Bucky’s not a morning person. He’s pretty nonverbal in the mornings, even when it’s just him and Steve, but he’s also a lot more relaxed and open when it’s just Steve around.

“He can’t,” Steve starts to tell Bucky, feeling his phone begin to buzz in the pockets of his sweatpants, “he’s on a cleanse.” Bucky lets him go so he can fish through his pocket easier, and Steve finds his phone seconds later. He puts it up to his ear and says in his professional voice, “Rogers.”

His voice is still a little scratchy from sleep, and he winces slightly, but doesn’t feel too bad at being a little unprofessional when he hears, “Hey, Steve. It’s Sharon,” and realizes it’s not one of his superiors.

“Hey, Sharon,” Steve replies, setting his mug down and crossing his empty arm across his chest. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a few things I’d like to show you down in my lab,” Sharon says, tone light and cheery.

“Is it about the victim from last night? That was fast,” Steve says, slightly impressed.

“I like to work fast,” Sharon says down the line, like she’s whispering a secret to him and trusting him to keep it.

“Sam and I are supposed to head down to _Kree Magazine_ in about forty minutes, but I’m sure we could stop by before we go,” Steve says, nodding his head at Sam’s questioning look.

“Sam’s with you?” Sharon asks innocently, but Steve can detect the subtle shift in her voice.

“Yes. We’ll be at the precinct in half an hour. Is that okay?” Steve asks, sharing a look with Bucky, who’s looking at him with a deliberating glint in his eyes, his stoic expression making Steve raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, that’s totally fine. See you then,” Sharon responds, and hangs up a second later.

Steve pulls his phone down and glances at it with a questioning look, before sliding it onto the counter. He goes to pick up his mug to finish off his coffee, because he really needs to hurry and shower if he’s going to be leaving so quickly, and catches sight of both his boyfriend and his best friend giving him looks.

“What?” Steve asks, confused.

“Who was that?” Bucky asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Sharon, the new Coroner,” Steve replies with a questioning tone.

“‘Sharon, the new Coroner,’ likes you,” Bucky says simply.

Sam whoops and shakes his head in an over exaggerated display as he raises his spoon in the air to point at Bucky again, yelling, “Yes! You see it, too!”

Steve stares at them, frowning. “No, she doesn’t. She’s new and just trying to make friends.”

“I didn’t even hear the conversation, and yet I know she was trying to flirt with you,” Sam says, pointing his finger at Steve as he chews loudly on another bite of cereal.

“I heard it,” Bucky growls lightly, “and she was _definitely_ flirting with you.”

The second thing about Bucky, Steve thinks, is that he’s _very_ possessive.

“She was not,” Steve dismisses, waving his hand at his boyfriend and his best friend.

“She _was_ , Steve. And she got all bitchy when she found out Sam was going to be with you — even though he’s your partner — because she wanted to get you alone, and then hung up on you.”

Steve sighs at Bucky, “I forgot you could hear all of that.”

“Werewolf hearing, Stevie. I hear _everything_.”

Steve’s so used to living with a werewolf now that he often forgets that he’s _actually living with a werewolf_ , so attuned to Bucky’s normal behaviors that he sometimes forgets that it’s actually not normal for a person to hear sounds and voices for miles.

“I’m not the only one who sees it, Steve,” Sam shrugs, unrepentant.

“When did you notice?” Bucky asks, turning so he’s facing Sam from where he’s sitting at the island.

Sam looks up and scoffs, “The minute they met, man. Steve was all ‘It’s nice to meet you, Sharon,’ and she literally _swooned_. And she never calls me to tell me things. She always calls him.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but Bucky looks back at him with his eyebrows raised and says, “And you _still_ think she’s not flirting with you?”

Steve’s so completely enveloped by he and Bucky’s relationship, completely used to Bucky’s overprotectiveness and how territorial he is, and so in love with Bucky that he barely notices when someone else is trying to catch his attention, and the thought of someone who’s not Bucky flirting with him just makes him feel puzzled.

He _definitely_ hadn’t thought that Sharon’s offhand, friendly chatterings had actually been her trying to _flirt_ with him, though, but now that he thinks about it, it does seem like she may have been laying it on a little too thick.

“It’s really not a big deal, Buck. She’s only been at the precinct for a few weeks and is just trying to make friends. The gal’s a little friendly, but it’s harmless,” Steve shrugs. “Besides, she knows I’m in a relationship.”

“You’ve told her that you have a boyfriend and she still flirts with you?” Bucky asks, growling again, which makes Sam smirk knowingly behind his spoon.

“Every person at the precinct knows I’m yours, Buck,” Steve says quietly to him, smiling at his boyfriend’s possessiveness.

Bucky’s explained to him before that being territorial and overprotective is a wolf thing. He didn’t want his possessive behavior to make Steve feel like Bucky thought he had a sense of ownership over him or make Steve think he couldn’t act and behave a certain way because Bucky was highly protective of him. _"Werewolves are just. . .really protective and territorial over their significant others,"_ Bucky had told him with embarrassment one night two months into their relationship after he’d practically bit some guy’s head off when he’d flirted with Steve. The wolf side of him always wants to make sure that Steve is safe and protected and _Bucky’s_ , and because he’s a born wolf, that side of him is pretty dominant.

It’s hard for him to see people flirting with Steve sometimes, though, because Steve is _his_. Not that Steve _belongs_ to Bucky, quite the opposite actually, but just that Steve is someone who Bucky has physically and emotionally given himself completely over to, and he can’t help but to feel protective over someone he loves so much.

It’s the animal side of him that sees anyone who flirts with Steve as a threat and a challenge. The rational part of him, the part that respects and understands human values, gets where everyone else is coming from. Steve is absolutely breathtakingly _gorgeous_. His eyes are the bluest Bucky’s ever seen. He’s got that perfect aquiline jaw, a sharp, muscular definition all over his body, and a shoulder width to waist ratio that is just downright _sinful_. He drives Bucky _wild_.

But he’s also brave and strong and so incredibly kind. He’s got a heart of gold and a mind like a whip, and a moral compass so strong it often breeds trouble. He’s New York City’s best homicide detective and an even better strong-willed individual. And he’s just such a gentleman — always so goddamn polite and respectful to everyone he meets, but still so stubborn as all hell. Bucky understands what people see when they look at Steve, because Bucky’s lucky enough to wake up to him every day and be hit with the full force of Steve’s beauty and valor.

It’s just, the wolf part of him, and the human part, too, doesn’t want to share that with anyone.

And Bucky can smell a person’s reaction to Steve. He can hear the way their heartbeats increase when they see Steve or talk to him, and can smell the pleasure, or arousal, that leaks through their pores. It drives Bucky _crazy_ , but he’s actively trying not to let it get to him because he doesn’t want to come off as an overbearing, jealous boyfriend.

But that’s exactly what happens _every single time_ someone flirts with his boyfriend.

Bucky’s possessiveness doesn’t really bother Steve, contrary to what Bucky may think.

“I know, Stevie. You know how I get,” Bucky sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Buck,” Steve replies, smiling that blinding smile that makes Bucky’s knees go weak.

Bucky pulls Steve against him softly, causing him to crash into Bucky’s muscular chest, before Bucky places a tender kiss against Steve’s forehead, which makes Steve smile harder.

“Ugh, I hate you guys,” Sam says, throwing his head down into his hands and sighing dramatically.

“You’re going to hate this even more,” Bucky smirks, before he grabs Steve’s head and pulls Steve’s lips to his, kissing him passionately.

“Gross, Barnes,” Sam says, and laughs when Bucky flips him the bird.

—

After Steve and Sam have both quickly showered (Sam in the guest bathroom and Steve in his and Bucky’s amazing master bathroom), and Bucky shoves a bagel in Steve's mouth while Sam whines that Bucky doesn’t care about him enough to at _least_ give him a granola bar on the way out so he doesn’t starve (and, seriously, Sam’s already had a bowl of Bucky’s favorite cereal so it's not like he’s actually _starving_ ), Steve and Sam are out the brownstone and driving past Prospect Park in record timing.

The New York City 88th Precinct on Classon Ave. is buzzing with noise and chaos when Steve and Sam pull up half an hour later, despite the early hour. It’s barely eight in the morning, but already the station is a flurry of activity and rushed motion.

Steve heads into the brick building and immediately turns to his left so he’s taking the stairs that lead down to Sharon’s lab.

Steve’s feeling a little antsy. He’s practically vibrating with the contained energy he wasn’t able to work off during his normal morning run. He typically goes on those runs by himself, where he’ll run for miles around Prospect Park and watch the sun rise. Sometimes, Sam wakes up early enough to go with him. Other times, Steve gets Bucky to come with him, even though Bucky always out runs him every time because of his werewolf stamina. He doesn’t even seem _winded_ most times when they get back to their brownstone, much to his own chagrin.

Contrary to Bucky’s normal grumpiness in the morning, he’s all smiles and content to just enjoy being outdoors with his boyfriend and using his physical strength for something other than lifting weights in their small home gym when Steve wakes him up earlier than normal in the mornings so they can run together.

Bucky’s kind of a fitness nut. He’s always working out, like doing pushups, squats, sit-ups, weightlifting, or boxing in their apartment, where Steve often joins him. Steve thinks he’s so active because he’s a werewolf and feels like he needs to build his super strength up even further. Bucky says he just likes staying in shape, as if his body wasn’t genetically made to keep him in peak physical shape, and that he needs to work off his extra energy. Bucky’s stamina is incredibly higher than Steve’s, and all of his extra energy makes him really antsy at times if he doesn’t work it off. His body is a lot different than Steve’s; he operates on a preternatural level that Steve doesn’t. He hardly gets worn out from anything but sex, and it makes Steve hot all over to know that Bucky’s pretty much ready to go at all times of the day. Everything about Bucky is enhanced, which includes his libido, much to Steve’s continued pleasure.

But Bucky’s body does work a lot differently than Steve’s. He works off everything so quickly just from his enhanced wolfy metabolism alone that he could never pick up a barbell again and _still_ have abs so defined that even a runway model would be jealous. His boyfriend metabolizes food and medicine so fast to the point where he eats _so much_ food at mealtimes, and he practically burns through any type of medication quick enough that it doesn’t even begin to take effect on him before it’s out of his system.

Well, Steve supposes, he’s got enhanced, accelerated werewolf healing if he were to get actually injured and would heal within minutes, but _still_.

Regardless, going on his morning runs is something Steve likes doing, enjoys it even more when Bucky goes with him, and is more than a little irritated that he wasn’t able to go on one with Bucky this morning. By the time he and Sam are keying the code into the keypad attached to a glass door and strolling into Sharon’s lab, Steve’s really starting to feel the restlessness kick in now that he’s properly awake and caffeinated.

“Please tell us that you have something, Sharon,” Sam says to her, strolling into Sharon’s office and pulling one of the spare chairs out from underneath her desk, kicking his feet up on top of the wooden tabletop and putting his hands behind his head.

Steve rolls his eyes, but Sharon looks at Sam with a smirk.

“I’ve got a pair of Louboutin’s in an evidence bag,” Sharon responds, moving towards a coat rack near her desk and grabbing the lab coat that’s hanging on the second peg. She turns around and shoots Sam a smirk. “What size are you?”

Sam removes his hands from his head in shock and points at Sharon accusingly, but says jokingly, “You are so _callous_.”

Sharon ignores him, turning to Steve and smiling brightly. “Hey Steve.” She puts on her lab coat. “You guys wanna follow me this way?”

Sharon’s lab is in immaculate shape as usual. The lab itself feels cold and calculating when they all walk into it in the next room over, a stark contrast to the remarkably homier desk and office space that connects the two rooms together.

Steve feels a chill run down his spine when he sees Carol Danvers on the steel slab.

“The head wounds Mrs. Danvers obtained are too superficial to have killed her, but she does have signs of low oxygenation,” Sharon starts, snapping on a pair of white nitrile gloves.

“Suffocation, strangulation?” Steve asks, following her around the table as she grabs Carol’s autopsy report that’s resting on a tray near Carol’s head.

Sharon shakes her head, “No ligature marks on the neck or upper torso. And the lack of defensive wounds on her body could mean she willingly put herself in danger, or that she trusted the suspect enough not to feel threatened by them.” She leans down to remove the covering on Carol’s neck. “She does have some kind of rash, though. Could potentially be a sign of poisoning. But here’s the weird part — ”

“Can’t take much more weird, Sharon,” Sam scoffs, but Sharon just grins at him.

She grabs the autopsy report, holding it out so both detectives can see, and says, “She’s got a bruised sternum and cracked ribs. You see that from CPR sometimes.”

“So, after the killer left, someone tried to save her? Why wouldn’t they have just stuck around?” Steve asks, confused, as he shares a glance with Sam.

“That’s your job, Detective,” Sharon chuckles, before turning around to grab something else on the autopsy tray. “I did find a hair.”

“DNA. Way to bury the lead on the wife, Sharon,” Sam says, but he high fives her before turning around.

“Please keep us posted, Sharon,” Steve says politely, handing the autopsy report back to her. He goes to turn around to follow Sam out of the lab, but Sharon stops him with a hesitant hand.

“Hey, Steve, what are you doing tomorrow night? I’ve got these premiere tickets from a friend of mine who can’t make it. Free movie, open bar,” Sharon shrugs, like she’s weighing the decision for him, her hand slipping away from his arm like an afterthought.

“What happened to that Tinder flight attendant?” Sam asks, leaning against the open door with a smug look on his face before Steve can think of how to respond.

“Permanently transferred to Dallas,” Sharon says just as smugly back, before turning back to Steve.

“By you, or by the airline?” Sam counters.

“Well, it was coming up on three months,” Sharon shrugs again, turning and laying the autopsy report on her desk before resting her hands on her waist. “I may have pulled some strings.”

“You are one weird lady,” Sam says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Sharon looks unbothered as she smiles her patented cheery smile at Sam, before turning back to face Steve, her eyes nervous. “So, what do you say, Steve?”

Steve's about to open his mouth to tell her that he appreciates the offer but he’s got dinner plans with Bucky tomorrow night at their favorite Italian restaurant when his phone starts ringing loudly in the open space of the office, and he holds back a sigh of relief at having literally been saved by the bell.

“Rogers,” he says into the phone, turning sheepishly away from both Sam and Sharon. A moment later, he’s hanging up and turning to Sam. “Our vic’s wife has surfaced.”

“Always the wife,” Sharon says, “See, that’s why I only stick to three months.”

“You’re such a player, Sharon!” Sam says, laughing, before giving her a little decisive nod. “I respect that.”

Sam gives her another high five, causing her to chuckle, before Sam’s turning back to Steve. “Where’s the wife at?”

“Upstairs,” Steve responds, before pocketing his phone and motioning for Sam to lead the way.

“Catch you later, player!” Sam says to Sharon, while Steve echoes a more polite, “See you later, Sharon,” and flees a moment later, not allowing him time to reject her invitation to the movies.

Sam gives him a look when they climb the stairs, and Steve just shakes his head, giving him a mock glare in warning. Sam mimes zipping his lips shut, but it doesn’t stop him from looking seconds away from cackling.

Once they’re back upstairs, Steve sees a tall woman in Air Force blue being led to the spare seat at his desk, and he and Sam walk a little quicker to meet the uni that’s escorting her before she sits down.

“Hello, Mrs. Rambeau,” Steve greets her sympathetically, keeping his voice steady. “Thank you for meeting us here. My name is Detective Steve Rogers, and this is my partner, Detective Sam Wilson.”

Steve shakes her hand, noticing how she trembles, and sits down in his desk chair as Sam politely greets her and ushers her to sit down in the spare chair at the end of Steve’s desk.

“We’re very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Rambeau,” Sam says, equally sympathetic, before he leans against Steve’s desk.

“Thank you,” Maria Rambeau replies, sniffling. She’s clutching a tissue in her hand, and Steve can tell from her body language that she’s in shock and is going to be extremely closed off from the both of them in her stunned grief.

“Can I get you anything, ma’am? A coffee, maybe some water?” Sam asks.

Another sniffle. “Um, a coffee would be nice, thank you.”

Sam nods, pushing himself up and off the desk and heads towards the elaborate display of coffee machines by the entrance to the precinct.

Steve turns back towards Maria, thinking through his options and choosing his words carefully. “You work in the Air Force, ma’am?”

Maria nods, “Yes, as a Captain and fighter pilot.”

“Well, thank you for serving, Captain,” Steve responds, nodding at her. That seems to get her to relax slightly, and she shifts in her chair.

“You say that with the air of someone who knows what it’s like to serve,” she replies, smiling hesitantly if a little forced.

Steve nods, trying to fight the uncomfortable edge creeping into his voice. “Army. Two tours in Afghanistan.”

“And your rank?”

Steve’s quiet for a moment, before he replies, “Captain.”

“Then thank you for serving as well, Detective Rogers,” Maria replies, and they lapse back into silence. Steve doesn’t know what he should say, doesn’t want to keep talking about his past, and Maria must sense that he’s uncomfortable, so he smiles at her warmly.

Sam returns with her cup of coffee only seconds later, and Steve feels himself release a tense breath when the Captain takes it gingerly and mutters a quiet, “Thank you.” Sam nods at her, also laying some creamer and sugar on the desk in front of her.

She takes a packet of creamer and dumps it into the cup, before saying, “Sorry, I was up late with our daughter, Monica.”

“No apologies, necessary, Captain,” Steve says, shaking himself out of his stupor before opening the Danvers file and slipping into his professional mode. “I’m sorry I have to ask you this, ma’am, but where were you last night between 9:00pm and 10:30pm?”

Maria lifts the cup of coffee to her lips, hand shaking, before she answers, “At the base.”

“And how long were you there for?” Steve asks, writing the information in the file.

“I entered the base at 1200, and then worked my ten-hour shift on the landing strip, but my Commanding Officer asked me to stay so I could help with the training of a few recruits for a while. I didn’t end up leaving the base until well after 0100,” the Captain replies, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Again, I’m sorry I have to ask you this, Captain, but is there anyone who can confirm that?” Steve asks, writing the times down in his notes.

He looks up when she doesn’t answer and sees the Captain inhale deeply, trembling, and when she speaks again, her eyes are full of unshed tears. “Um,” she says, taking another deep breath and steadying herself. “My CO, the security guard, and the three recruits I was training. They were all there with me on the landing strip. I also have my timecard, if you’d like to see it.”

She digs into her purse, before grabbing the piece of paper and flicking her wrist, handing the timecard out to Steve, revealing a stamp mark in the shape of a star on her inner wrist. Sam spots it first.

“Were you at a club as well, Mrs. Rambeau?”

The Captain looks down at her wrist questioningly, before reply, “Oh, no. No, I was at a fundraiser. I dropped in there on my way into the base.”

“Was your wife with you at that time?” Steve asks.

“No, she went straight to work after she had dropped our daughter off at school at around eight,” Maria replies, sniffling. “She’d just landed a big promotion. She started out as an intern there.”

Sam looks at the timecard, sees the times matching up to the ones the Captain had given, and nods before showing it to Steve. He looks back to Maria, asking politely, “Mrs. Rambeau, that promotion, you think it would have earned her any enemies?”

“You’d have to ask her assistant, Minerva. I’m afraid I didn’t know too much about Carol’s job,” the Captain responds, looking saddened at the admission.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Rambeau. We’ll make sure to keep you updated on the case. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call,” Steve says, reaching into his wallet and handing her his card. “We’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”

The Captain nods, before picking up her coffee and nodding again to the both of them, disappearing out of the front door.

“Well, I don’t think she murdered her wife,” Sam says, sighing.

“Yeah, I’d say so. She’s heartbroken and in shock. She didn’t do this,” Steve replies, leaning back into his chair. He brings his pen up near his mouth, clicking it as he thinks.

“Where does this leave us?” Sam asks, crossing his arms and looking at the manilla file on Steve’s desk, flipping back through evidence notes and the notes about Mrs. Rambeau’s interview.

Steve exhales a breath, “Well, the wife’s alibi is airtight. We can rule her out. We still haven’t gotten over to _Kree Magazine_ ,” Steve points out, “and maybe interviewing the assistant will tell us about Mrs. Danvers’s potential enemies and whereabouts yesterday.”

“Sounds like a plan, partner,” Sam says, jumping up. “You drive.”

“Don’t I always?” Steve mutters, before following Sam out the door.

—

The headquarters of _Kree Magazine_ look like every other merchandise and retail building in New York. It’s a large skyscraper leased for the office spaces of many different corporations, and _Kree Magazine_ is on the tenth floor.

When Steve steps off the elevator, the flurry of motion that greets him and Sam looks even more chaotic than it had been back at the precinct. He sees people carrying mounds of paperwork, fabric, and manilla files, and everyone is moving and talking over each other.

Sam gives him a look of distress, before reaching out and stopping a male editor and asking, “Excuse me, where can we find a Minerva?”

The editor huffs but points back over his shoulder towards a slender looking Asian woman, talking with another editor.

The detectives make their way towards her, risking life and limb as someone nearly barrels right into Steve.

“Jeez,” Sam mutters, looking around with wide eyes, “it’s like the apocalypse in here.”

Steve chuckles, turning towards where the woman is standing, and says, “Excuse me, ma’am, are you Minerva?”

The woman turns around then, and her cat-shaped eyes snap over to give him in a quick once-over, before she says sweetly, “I am, and who’s asking?”

She’s got a European accent, and Steve can see Sam’s eyes practically bug out of his head at the sound of her voice.

“Detectives Rogers and Wilson,” Steve replies, and the woman snaps her mouth shut. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately, ma’am?” he asks, glancing around at the indistinct noise and motion.

“Yes, follow me please, gentlemen.”

She turns on her heel, heading back away from the chaos and towards a glass conference room, before ushering them inside and shutting the door quietly. It’s immediately silent, despite the glass allowing Steve to see the many employees still talking and moving rapidly around the small entryway of the office.

Soundproofed, then.

“May I ask what this is about, Detectives?” Minerva says, gesturing for them to sit down.

The conference room is light and open. There’s clothing racks hanging on the opposite wall in front of Steve, full of a vast array of different items of women’s clothing. A purse is sitting on the edge of the conference table, and Minerva moves it and sits it into her lap when she sits down.

Steve and Sam both take a seat, and Sam says, “We’re here investigating the murder of Carol Danvers.”

The woman immediately freezes. “Carol’s _dead_?”

Steve and Sam glance at each other, before Steve nods. “Yes. We’re sorry to tell you this under these unfortunate circumstances.”

“Oh my, _God_ ,” Minerva says, hand covering her mouth as she looks blearily at the conference table.

“Ma’am, from our understanding, Carol worked here for a long time, correct?” Sam says, slipping his pocket notebook out his back pocket and opening it.

Minerva nods, “Yes. She’s so loved here. She’s always so nice to everyone.” A deep inhale and shaky exhale. “ _Was_ always so nice to everyone.”

She continues to look down at the conference table hypnotically. Steve can tell she’s trying to process the new information she’s been given, but she continues to look straight into the woodwork, gaze spaced out and dazed. The glint her eyes in unnerving.

“Is there anyone you know who was jealous of Carol’s promotion, or who was up for that job, too?” Steve asks, and her cat-eyes snap up to his own startled gaze.

Minerva takes another deep breath, before leaning her arms against the conference table. “Maybe the beauty editor, but. . .”

“The beauty editor?” Steve says curiously, encouraging her to elaborate.

Minerva nods, “Wendy Lawson. She thought that she deserved the job but, I mean — _I’m sorry_ — but Carol was the fashion editor. She _deserved_ it.”

Steve’s phone begins ringing loudly in the conference room, and he excuses himself sheepishly before stepping out and closing the door behind him, answering curtly, “Rogers.”

“Hey, Steve,” Sharon’s voice says in that usual chipper tone down the line. “DNA results just came in. Got time to talk?”

“Hey,” Steve replies, rubbing the bridge of his nose and feeling the sudden urge to hold back a sigh, “go ahead, I’m listening.”

“So, the sample’s corrupted.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Steve huffs, suddenly overcome with annoyance.

“Yeah, I know. Kept coming back contaminated no matter how many times I ran it. The weird thing, though, is I _did_ get a hit on one of the antibodies. I think you’re looking for someone with heart disease.”

“Heart disease?”

“Yeah,” Sharon says, and Steve can hear rustling on the end of the line. “I found chlorthalidone and metolazone in the hair sample, which are both diuretics used to get rid of excess sodium and water to help control blood pressure. From my guess, it looks like years’ worth of use. I checked Carol’s medical records, and she’s not on any heart disease medication. I just got off the phone with the wife, too, and she said no one in their household is on that kind of medication.”

“So, we’re looking for someone with prolonged blood pressure issues?” Steve asks.

“I’d say so, but like I said, the DNA sample was corrupted, so I can’t tell you who that person is, but they’re definitely a female.”

“Thanks, Sharon, that really helps,” Steve replies. “Has tox come back on Carol yet? Do we know what poisoned her?”

“Wow, our telepathy is working,” Sharon chuckles. “I was just about to tell you that. Carol was positive for lethal doses of nicotine.”

“Nicotine? From where?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Detective,” Sharon laughs.

Steve sighs, “Thanks, Sharon.”

“You got it, Steve.”

Steve hangs the phone up just as Sam exits the conference room.

“Hey, man. Nat just texted. Says she wants an update on where we’re at with the case.”

Steve nods, pocketing his phone and walking with Sam as they both head towards the elevator.

“Everything go alright for the rest of the interview? I’m sorry I had to step out.”

Sam groans, “You’re good, Steve. She kept going on and on about how important it was that she get back to work, and she just kept flirting and asking when the ‘tall, blond, and handsome’ detective would be joining us again.”

Steve laughs, “You enjoy flirting with her?”

“Nah,” Sam says, “she wasn’t nearly as interesting enough to make me break my cleanse.”

Steve laughs again as they step off the elevator.

“What was your phone call about?”

“Sharon says we should be looking for someone with heart disease who takes blood pressure medication. Also, Carol Danvers died from lethal amounts of nicotine poisoning.”

“Nicotine poisoning?” Sam asks, holding the building door open for Steve as they exit the corporate building. “Doesn’t that shit kill you within, like, minutes of being ingested?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Once she had that in her system, she didn’t stand a chance.”

“So, we're looking for someone with poison knowledge and heart disease?”

Steve opens the driver’s side door to his Camaro, nodding again. “And who’s also a female.”

“Female? Well if she’s got heart disease and is probably a smoker, wouldn’t that fit with the old broad, Wendy Lawson?”

“We'll add her to the list,” Steve says. “Maybe we can call her to the precinct after we update Natasha.”

“This case just keeps getting more complicated,” Sam whines, but Steve can’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is unbeta'd, and I have tried my best to fix any errors, but please let me know about any that I didn't catch! See you sometime either this week or next!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it has taken me a while to update! I've been slightly busy this week, but here's to another chapter! 
> 
> I'm planning on updating this story every few days, and I would like to again point out that this story is complete, but because it is so big, I will be posting it in parts. Also, note the added tags. This story is definitely heating up! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_“And if you are to love, love like the moon loves. It doesn’t steal the night; it only unveils the beauty of the dark.” — Isra Al-Thibeh_

“So,” Sam starts from where he’s sitting on the sofa in Natasha’s office, “nicotine, when ingested, kills in seconds.”

“But the security footage from the Hilton is longer than that,” Steve cuts in, sitting up and leaning his forearms on his knees from where he’s sitting in one of Natasha’s spare office chairs. “So, it had to have been absorbed through her skin, in which case it could have taken up to four hours to work.”

“So, where was she during that time?” Natasha asks, picking up the Danvers file and flipping through the evidence log.

“We checked her date book and hard drive. No appointments. And she wasn’t at work,” Sam replies.

“Great. Great. So, we're nowhere. The D.A.’s already on my ass about this, guys. Carol Danvers’ murder is already creating a lot of speculation. I can’t wait to tell him that we have nothing,” Natasha says, tossing the file back down onto her desk and sighing.

They’d only had a short while to compile all of their information before they’d been willing to explain it to her, but even Steve can admit that they aren’t really giving her a lot to work with. Especially when he knows that they don’t really have anything solid to present to the D.A.

Steve watches her carefully, making a low sound of disagreement.

“Not necessarily, Nat. I think we need to focus on finding the source of the poison. We find the poison, we find the murderer. Carol was a fashion editor, Lieutenant. You want to kill her, you probably wouldn’t do it with something as mundane as window cleaner.”

“Then what do you do it with?” Natasha asks, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed and lips pursed.

“We think the killer poisoned her with something from the beauty closet at _Kree Magazine_. A witness told us in her interview that they’ve got all kinds of test products in the closet there, which are regularly checked out and passed around through multiple hands. But we can’t know for sure until we get a warrant,” Sam replies, shrugging his shoulders.

Natasha nods her head. “All right, I’ll bite. Get a warrant. It probably won’t go through until tomorrow, but be ready to leave today just in case.”

Steve glances at his phone screen, noting the time. It’s only a little past noon, but while they’re waiting for the warrant to be approved, he’s sure he and Sam will make themselves busy by catching up on paperwork to complete all of their case files.

“You got it, Nat,” Sam says to her with a mock salute. Natasha just looks up at him with a roll of her eyes, then pointedly fixes her gaze towards the computer at her desk and begins typing on the keyboard. With Natasha’s clear dismissal, Steve and Sam leave her office without another word, heading back to their desks in the middle of the precinct to settle in and open up their remaining case files for the day.

Sure enough, as Steve had suspected, the warrant gets approved by the judge at four o’clock, and Steve and Sam are back and walking into _Kree Magazine_ by five.

The lobby as they step off of the elevator isn’t as busy or as chaotic as it had been earlier, and there is a stillness to the office space that wasn’t there before, as if a hollowness has now overcome the once vibrant atmosphere. The sudden change makes Steve feel off-kilter.

“Nice to see you again, Detectives,” Minerva says when she sees them, giving them a coy smile. She’s standing behind the welcome desk this time, and she leans against it with practiced ease as she eyes them.

Sam smiles at her. “We have a warrant to search the beauty closet here.”

Minerva looks taken aback as her cat-eyes narrow in confusion. “For what?”

“Potential lethal poisons in the products in that supply closet,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows at her when she doesn’t move.

She snaps out of it then, plastering a smile on her face. “Oh, honey, at least half of those products have artificial ingredients and colors that shouldn’t go anywhere near a person's face.” She winks at him, but motions for them to follow her. “I don’t have access to the beauty closet, but Wendy’s here, and she can let you in.”

She leads them back to another glass room, an office this time, and doesn’t knock on the door before she pushes it open, causing the older woman inside to startle.

“Good evening, Miss Lawson,” Minerva says coolly. “These detectives would like a word with you.”

“Detectives Wilson and Rogers, ma’am,” Sam says, holding out the warrant to her. “We’re with the Special Crimes Unit. I’m told you’re the one I should talk to about executing a search on the beauty supply closet.”

Wendy Lawson balks at them, moving forward to grab the warrant and skimming it while Minerva says, “I’ll leave you to it,” and disappears a moment later with a wink.

“Well,” Wendy says after a silent moment, tense. “The beauty closet is this way, if you’d like to search it.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, holding the door open for his partner and the older woman.

“Do you _really_ think Carol could have been poisoned by something from the beauty closet?” Wendy asks, skeptical, as she swipes a key card to open another set of glass doors.

Steve turns to her, furrowing his eyes. "It’s just a preliminary search, Miss Lawson. We’re trying to figure out what happened, and since you’re the beauty editor — ”

“That is a _hair_ product,” Wendy abruptly says, cutting Steve off as they enter the room, “ _not_ a body lotion.”

“Does everyone get their samples from this beauty closet?” Sam asks, moving to stand on the other side of a wide table. There are a wide variety of skincare, body care, and hair care products on the table in front of them, and Steve looks at them in confusion. He has no idea what any of this stuff is.

“If they’re nice to me,” Wendy replies to Sam’s question, moving to a sign in/out sheet at the other side of the table.

“They sign all of them out?” Steve asks, watching as she flips through the sheet.

“And log it. Do you have any idea how much these items cost?” Wendy asks, reaching across the table and straightening a misplaced bottle. “We don’t get common occurrences of theft here, but one can never be too careful, Detective.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at that but says nothing, letting his eyes take a cursory glance of the room. There are shelves upon shelves of products just like the ones on the table. It’s a pretty spacious room, and by the way it seems to have dropped a few degrees when they entered, Steve would guess it’s also climate controlled.

“So, Carol Danvers being promoted over you. . .” Sam starts, his voice sympathetic, “doesn’t sound too nice.”

Wendy tilts her head to the side, accessing Sam’s insincerity, and coolly says, “Alright, gentlemen, I think we’re done here.”

She turns and walks out of the room, heading back towards her office, but Sam trails after her, calling, “Miss Lawson!”

Steve watches them go cautiously before he glances back to the table, eyes running over the products and the sign in sheet. He grabs the sheet, folding it in half and sticking it into his pocket before he turns around to follow after Sam and Wendy. He and Sam will come back here to start bagging up the beauty products after they’re done questioning Wendy.

“Look,” Steve hears when he enters another office. Wendy’s packing up her purse and files, clearly trying to force them out. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have an editorial meeting that started five minutes ago.”

Sam’s leaning against the doorframe of the office, but it’s not the same one they met Wendy in earlier.

Sam turns to Steve, rapping a knuckle against the door, and says, “This is Carol’s office.”

Wendy scoffs. “This is the _Executive Editor’s_ office.”

Steve gives Wendy a patronizing look, replying smoothly, “So, you got that promotion after all.”

“Not the way I wanted it,” she says, sharply, before she looks up again, resilient. “Look, I may not have _loved_ Carol, but I didn’t kill her. Accusations like that can ruin a career. I was working all day yesterday, and I didn’t go home until almost eleven o’clock. I understand you have a job to do, but think carefully before you go pointing fingers at innocent people.”

A knock on the glass of the office wall startles her, and she turns back to Steve and Sam, before petulantly saying, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an issue to get out.” She moves towards the exit of the office, says, “I trust the two of you can find your own way out,” and walks briskly past Steve in the opposite direction they’d come from.

“Yeah, we sure can,” Sam replies back sarcastically, giving her retreating backside an over exaggerated smile and closing the office door quietly.

There are still boxes of stuff that, presumably, belongs to Carol. They’ve still got a search warrant, after all, and might as well put it to good use.

Sam walks behind the desk and uncovers a box, peaking into it. Steve follows suit, moving printouts and posters out of his way to reveal a wedding picture of Carol and Maria, multiple handbags that are bubble wrapped, and more family pictures, including ones of their daughter, Monica, and the family dog.

A further dig reveals a box of prescribed pills, and Steve turns them over to see a bottle of birth control pills, flu medication, and two half empty bottles of chlorthalidone and metolazone.

He holds them up so Sam can see, shaking them to get his attention. “Blood pressure medication.”

“And we know it doesn’t belong to Carol,” Sam replies, stepping towards the box Steve’s going through. “So, who does it belong to?”

Steve flips the bottle around. “Label’s been scratched out.” He turns the bottle around again. “But there’s a serial number.”

“Which means CSUs can track it.”

—

Steve’s just walking through he and Bucky’s front door that night when his phone rings and buzzes insistently in his hand.

“Rogers,” he answers tiredly, not even bothering to take a look at the caller I.D. He takes his briefcase off his shoulder and sets his keys on the side table, wandering further into their apartment and following the sounds of clatter into the kitchen.

He passes multiple pictures secured to the brick walls as he walks, eyes running over a portrait of his late mother, a family photo of Bucky and his family when Bucky was sixteen years old, and even more pictures of the two of them together, Sam filtered in throughout the photos. There’s even some artwork that Steve had done years ago hanging off the bricks, just a few canvases he feels self-conscious about whenever he looks at them, but Bucky loves him, and he’d hung them up with a proud smile on his face when they’d finally gotten around to unpacking all their boxes when they’d moved in two and a half years ago.

“Hey, Steve, it’s Sharon, again,” Sharon says over the line as Steve walks into this kitchen, eyes searching until he sees Bucky standing over the stove and stirring something in a saucepan.

Bucky smiles up at him, and Steve goes around the island to give him a hello peck on the back of his neck before saying, “Hey, Sharon, what’s up?”

He moves back around the island to plop down into one of the stools as Sharon responds, “I finished testing everything you and Sam bagged up from the beauty closet, and I didn’t find anything that indicates that Carol was poisoned with any of these products. But,” she adds as Steve sighs in frustration, “I was actually calling to tell you that I ran another test on that hair from the Danvers crime scene.”

“Oh, what test did you run?” Steve asks, stifling his groan as his weight moves off his aching feet. He’s tired, and he’s not overly enthusiastic about discussing a case when he’s supposed to be home for the night, especially when she’s partly calling with bad news.

“Isotope ratios,” Sharon tells him, “so that I could see where the hair has been in the last few years.” Steve nods along to her as he watches Bucky pull a package of chicken breast out of the fridge.

“What did you find?”

“I can’t give you an exact timeline or anything, but it looks like our mystery woman has been doing some traveling. She’s been to Japan, Germany, and New York in just the past few months.”

“So, she gets around?” Steve says questioningly, resting his head on his hand and continues to watch as Bucky carefully cuts up the chicken and places it into the saucepan, shooting Steve a confused glance over his shoulder.

“Not exactly for pleasure,” Sharon continues, unbeknownst to Steve’s ire. “I also ran another tox panel with the new data. Every time she traveled, readings would spike in alkylating antineoplastic agents and antimetabolites.”

Steve blinks, pulling the phone away from his ear and staring at it with a blank look, like that’s somehow going to make him understand what she’s just told him. He brings the phone back to his ear and says, “Okay. Can you dumb that down for me, Sharon? Preferably without all of the medical jargon.”

“It’s cancer meds,” Sharon laughs at him. "Turns out Hamburg, Tokyo, and New York City all have hospitals that specialize in rare cancers."

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. So not only does our perp have heart disease, but also a rare kind of cancer?”

“My guess is angiosarcoma, which is a rare cancer of the endothelial cells that line the walls of blood vessels.”

Steve whistles. “Wow, okay. Well, thanks, Sharon. I’ll talk to Sam and maybe we can go and interview that hospital you mentioned tomorrow. I’ll get more details from you in the morning.”

“Okay. Talk to you later, Detective. Have a good night!”

“You, too, Sharon.”

Steve ends the call and pulls the phone down to his eye level so he can shut it off. He places it face down on the marble tabletop in front of him, puts his head down so it’s resting on his forearms on top of the marble, and groans loudly.

He hears footsteps a moment later, and then close to his ear, “Sounds like someone had an interesting day at work,” Bucky chuckles lightly.

Steve feels Bucky’s arms circle around his waist, and a second later, Steve’s being manhandled off the stool and into Bucky’s lap, feeling himself get pulled back into Bucky’s muscular chest.

It always makes his heart flutter when Bucky manhandles him like this. Steve’s a pretty big and muscular guy. It’s not often someone can even take him in a fight, let alone pick him up like he weighs nothing, especially when he’s got more than six feet of muscular body to work with.

Steve relaxes back against Bucky, sighing softly in contentment, and says quietly, “Hey, Buck.”

“Hi, baby,” Bucky says back, tightening his hold on Steve and placing kisses on the back of his neck, before inhaling deeply. “You smell like roses.”

“It’s probably from that magazine company,” Steve yawns, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. “The place was practically drowning in floral smells.”

“Hmm,” Bucky mumbles back, face still buried in Steve’s neck. “Bad day today?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, not really. Just long. And it feels like Sam and I were all over the greater downtown area of Brooklyn today. I’m just glad to be home.”

“Me, too,” Bucky says, placing a kiss on the sensitive underside of Steve’s left ear, causing him to squirm a little, and he smiles softly.

“How was your day today?” Steve asks, turning so he’s straddling Bucky’s waist and can look him in the eyes.

Bucky smiles a pearly smile at him, eyes bright and open. “Good. Fixed up a nice Harley. Missed you like crazy.” Bucky leans in and attacks his lips a second later, apparently done with talking, placing tender and sweet kisses on his mouth.

Steve sighs into it, feeling his annoyance and stress leach out of him through Bucky’s lips, and works his hands into Bucky’s soft hair, tugging lightly.

Bucky runs his hands up Steve’s sides and moves them so that he can get his hands on the buttons of Steve’s shirt, carefully undoing one of them so that he has better access to Steve’s neck.

Steve melts as Bucky continues to place soft kisses all over his neck, and arches into him when Bucky bites down on that sensitive spot.

It shouldn’t surprise Steve, really, that his boyfriend has a thing for biting, what with the whole being-a-werewolf thing, but God does it turn his insides molten when Bucky bites that sensitive spot and sends a thrill coursing down his spine.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers, feeling Bucky shift so that he can place kisses on top of Steve’s clothed chest.

They hadn’t been able to indulge each other last night, what with Sam sleeping over and Bucky already being asleep when he’d gotten home, and his body is already starting to feel that want and desire begin to scratch their way to the surface.

Bucky just drives him absolutely _crazy._

But then Bucky’s pulling back all too soon, tilting his head lightly and literally sniffing the air. His eyes widen, and he says, “I think I’m letting the stir fry burn,” and then he’s standing with Steve still in his arms, who squawks lightly, and turns around so that he can gently place him back onto the stool and then moves around the island to stir the contents of the saucepan.

Steve’s breathing is a little hitched and he pants slightly as he gawks at Bucky’s backside while Bucky turns the head of the stovetop down.

“It doesn’t even smell burnt,” Steve says a tad childishly, leaning so that his elbows are against the tabletop and his hands are supporting his face.

“It’s not. It was just starting to char before I got to it,” Bucky replies, picking up some kind of seasoning and sprinkling some of it on before removing the saucepan from the hot stovetop, setting it on a warming pad, and moving to grab two plates.

“I’m glad you were thinking about the food burning while kissing me,” Steve grumbles, rolling his eyes playfully at Bucky’s _very_ sensitive sense of smell. He knows how hard it is for Bucky to ignore the scents he smells, though, so he’s not really that put out.

Bucky glances at him, smirking. “Don’t worry, baby. I wasn’t. Always thinkin' about what I wanna do to you when I’m near you.” He spoons some stir fry out for Steve before turning around and winking, lowering his voice and saying, “Besides, you know how crazy I get when I can smell how much you want me.”

And if _that_ doesn’t send a wave of heat straight to Steve’s dick.

It’d been a shock the first time when he’d found out that Bucky could smell Steve’s emotions. Bucky’s always adamant that Steve smells like home to him, the natural scent of him calming his wolf and making him feel safe, but he can also pick up on the chemo signals of Steve’s body to tell what he’s feeling. He can tell when Steve’s upset or anxious just by the sharp curl of his scent, which he says smells like sage. Steve’s happy and content feelings smell like autumn, like the fall breeze carrying hints of spice and the changing of leaves. When he’s angry, Bucky says all he can smell is smoke. When he’s scared, he smells like fear, but Bucky’s not too keen on what that excruciating scent smells like, just that it’s gut-wrenching and makes his wolf seethe and feel enraged at whatever’s making Steve smell like that.

His arousal, though, smells like the heady scent of cinnamon and honey, the sickeningly sweet aroma swarming Bucky’s senses and driving his wolf insane, like it’s an aphrodisiac only Bucky can smell. It never fails to drive Bucky wild with arousal, and it’s the hottest thing in the world when Bucky looks at him, eyes dilated with lust, and kisses him within an inch of his life whenever he smells it.

Steve suddenly takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and takes the plate Bucky offers him. Bucky’s plate is filled with a considerable amount of food, way more than Steve’s, but Steve knows that he’s probably made enough for a family of four — or, in their case, a hungry human and an equally hungry werewolf.

They eat in comfortable silence, sitting next to each other at the island, sometimes talking to the other about their day, where Steve fills Bucky in on the case he and Sam are working on and Bucky tells him about the customers he’s seen down at the garage he owns, while Bucky rests his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, idly rubbing his thumb over the soft skin in random patterns.

Steve can only tell Bucky so much about he and Sam’s case because it’s an ongoing investigation, so they lapse into light conversation while they eat.

The meal is great as always. Bucky’s an amazing cook. He’s taught Steve a lot of cooking tips over the years they’ve been together, even more so after they’d moved in together, which Steve greatly appreciates. Before Bucky, he’d been the kind of guy who ate frozen meals right out of the microwave and takeout every other night, too busy and tired to try to fix himself a good meal after working an exhausting shift at the precinct. Even though he works late hours sometimes, it’s nice to have a good home cooked meal being fixed up for him whenever he walks through the door because Bucky can hear him turn onto their street even through the crowded and noisy neighborhood they live in.

That part’s good, Steve thinks, but it's even better that he has Bucky to come home to every night.

Steve used to cook for Bucky on rare nights where he would get home before his boyfriend does, but after Steve had started a small kitchen fire that resulted in _no damage whatsoever,_ Steve had taken to bringing home their favorite takeout from the Chinese place that’s a block away from their brownstone on the off chance he gets in before Bucky.

Bucky had panicked when he’d smelled the remnants of the fire, his entire body taut and defensive, but now he mostly just teases Steve about it whenever it comes up, only after he’d been reassured that Steve was completely fine and had come out unscathed.

After dinner, Steve does the dishes with Bucky’s help and cleans the kitchen because he’s a neat freak and Bucky’s mostly an animal so he’s kind of messy sometimes, before the both of them migrate to their enormous living room and comfy couch so they can wrap around each other and watch crappy T.V. until they get tired. Steve’s already beginning to nod off, though, and his eyes start drooping after two episodes of _Chopped._

Bucky’s been idly rubbing Steve’s back from where Steve’s slumped against him, working the tension and pent up stress out of his shoulders as they watch the show, not really paying attention to anything besides the sounds of Steve’s breathing. When he notices Steve’s breathing evening out though, he smiles, running a hand up Steve’s back so he can tangle it in his hair.

“You falling asleep on me, Stevie?” Bucky asks him teasingly, placing a kiss on the top or Steve’s head.

“No,” Steve mutters, snuggling deeper into Bucky’s chest. He _is_ tired, though, and his eyes are heavy, but he’s still feeling antsy and worked up, like he did this morning at not having the opportunity to go on his run.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Bucky asks, rubbing his fingers over Steve’s scalp.

Steve buries his head into Bucky’s chest and shakes his head, mumbling, “Not yet,” though it’s muffled from Bucky’s torso.

Bucky hears him clearly anyway, and chuckles at him, saying softly, “You’re exhausted, baby.”

Steve lifts his head and smiles, his eyes tired. “You smell that on me, too?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky chuckles again, nodding.

Steve raises himself up a little and places a soft kiss on Bucky’s lips, then pulls back and leans on his hands and gives Bucky another sleepy smile. “How about now?”

Bucky makes a show of lifting his head up and sniffing the air loudly, looking down at Steve and proclaiming, “Yep. I can still smell the exhaustion on you.”

He grins softly, running his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, but Steve kisses him again. He shifts his body so that he’s sitting up more instead of laying down and begins to put more heat behind his kisses, and Bucky melts completely beneath him, arms moving so he can wrap them around Steve’s waist.

He bites down on Bucky’s lower lip, causing a small, animalistic moan to tear itself from Bucky’s throat, and Steve begins working his way down. He bites and kisses his way down Bucky’s neck, fully straddling Bucky so that he has a better angle to work with.

Bucky’s hands run over Steve’s back soothingly, like he’s still trying to make sure that Steve’s taken care of even as Steve kisses him deeply. He works his fingers into Steve’s hair when he moves his hands back up Steve’s body, and on a particularly hard bite to his throat, he’s quickly but gently yanking Steve back up to his mouth and bringing their lips together, swallowing the low moan Steve releases deep in his throat.

Steve cups his hands against Bucky’s jaw, working his mouth over his boyfriend’s, and Bucky’s hands leave Steve’s hair to rest one on the back of Steve's neck, the other gripping his left hip.

Steve can feel the way the air’s changed between them, charged with the electricity from their kisses. It makes heat curl in his abdomen, and he shifts his hips forward imperceptibly when he feels a thrill run down his spine.

Bucky releases a small, choked-off sound underneath him, and he runs his tongue over Steve’s bottom lip before biting down softly, and Steve’s breath hitches in response.

Steve’s still in his work clothes, a soft button down and jeans, but Bucky’s wearing sweatpants and a white long sleeve. Steve can feel exactly how much he’s affecting Bucky, and he moves his hips down again into Bucky’s lap to get him groaning.

Bucky moans deeply, and within seconds he’s got both his hands splayed on Steve’s ass, encouraging him to grind down harder, groaning hotly in the open space of their living room.

Steve pulls back from Bucky then, and Bucky opens his eyes and blinks confusedly up at him, thumbs massaging the meat of Steve’s ass. Steve smiles teasingly at him and says slowly, “Do I still smell tired?”

It takes a second for Bucky to understand the question before he’s chucking and moving his hands up so he can circle his arms around Steve’s waist, nodding. “You _are_ tired, baby. And you’ve got to be up early in the morning. Are you sure you don’t just wanna go to bed?”

Steve’s heart swells at the amount of love and concern in Bucky’s voice, and he smiles as he says lowly, “I appreciate the offer, baby, but I’d much rather have _you_ take me to bed.”

Bucky gets it immediately, and then he’s bringing his hands down to grab underneath Steve’s muscular thighs, and then Steve’s being lifted into the air like he weighs _nothing._

Steve feels heat pool in his stomach, gasping when Bucky just tilts his head up to catch Steve’s lips with his. Steve absolutely loves that Bucky’s werewolf strength allows him to hold Steve up like this and not get even slightly tired or out of breath.

Steve loops his arms around Bucky’s neck to help support himself, still slightly concerned he’s too heavy for him even though he knows Bucky is beyond strong enough to hold him, and crosses his ankles to rest on Bucky’s lower back as Bucky carries him to their bedroom, pupils dilated wide with lust.

When they enter their bedroom, Bucky sits Steve down on top of their amazingly comfortable bed and climbs on top of him, eyeing him the entire time with a heated gaze. The look in his eyes has Steve feeling hot all over, and he reaches out to grab Bucky’s face, pulling him in. Steve drops his legs from around Bucky’s waist and opens them so Bucky can lay between them more comfortably, keeping his hands on either side of Bucky’s face before he pulls him down insistently to bring their lips together.

Bucky kisses Steve with a desire and passion that makes Steve’s insides ignite, and he can feel the fire all the way down in his bones. It’s hot and heavy, both of them getting steadily worked up at just the exploration of each other’s mouths.

Bucky moves his head down, mouthing down along Steve’s jaw and neck and sucking right on Steve’s sensitive spot underneath his ear, and Steve moans hotly when Bucky bites down gently. Bucky leans all his weight on his left hand and runs his right hand up Steve’s chest, stopping at Steve’s clavicle and beginning to unbutton the buttons of his shirt and kissing and mouthing at every new pale strip of skin each button reveals.

Steve’s writhing below him, thrusting his hips off the bed when Bucky reaches the end of the button down, pushes the two sides out of the way, and seals his mouth over Steve’s left nipple. Steve runs a hand into Bucky’s soft hair, the insurmountable urge for something to hold onto making his fingers curl against the soft locks.

Bucky continues to tongue at Steve’s nipple, bringing his other hand up to finger at the neglected one on his right. Steve bites down on his lip to try to steel himself, to not get lost in the feel of Bucky on top of him and the feel of Bucky’s gentle hands just yet, head spinning at the arousal coursing through his veins. His nipples have always been one of the most sensitive areas of his body, and he can feel his aching dick begin to leak at the feel of Bucky’s tongue on him.

“Buck,” Steve pants, head thrown back. Bucky looks up at him, his normal gray eyes blown black with lust, and stares into Steve’s equally dilated pupils as he releases the nipple with an audible pop and moves to work the other one over.

Steve’s eyes roll back in his head, and he moans a high-pitched whine that Bucky can feel rumble from deep in Steve’s chest and right into his mouth.

Bucky pulls off a moment later, mouth a bright cherry red, and makes to move further down, but Steve stops him, putting his hands on Bucky’s face and pulling him up to bring their lips together again. He’s making hot little noises into the kiss, his hips thrusting wantonly off the bed, and Bucky can’t help but to grind down when Steve bites his bottom lip lasciviously.

Bucky pulls away, thrusting his hips down, and growls hotly, “Fuck, baby, the way you _sound._ ”

“Buck,” Steve whimpers back, his breath hitching when Bucky’s hips snap against his, gasping breathlessly, and Bucky just moans back lowly in response.

Bucky leans back and rests his weight on his knees before pulling his long sleeve over his head, tugging it off and tossing it somewhere near the direction of their laundry hamper, before he’s leaning back down and attacking Steve’s neck in hot little kisses.

Bucky always leaves marks on Steve when they get like this, sometimes intentionally but more often unintentionally. Steve thinks it’s because Bucky’s wolf wants to mark him up so that everyone can see that Steve is Bucky’s, for the entire world to see, but Bucky rarely leaves marks that are visible, preferring to leave them between Steve’s thighs, all over his navel, or on his collarbones, much to Steve’s continued relief. It’s not very professional for a homicide detective to walk into work covered in love bites, but every time his shirt collar or the denim of his jeans brushes up a new mark when he’s at work, his face goes red and he desperately tries to think about anything except Bucky’s mouth on him.

Steve, on the other hand, leaves very visible bites on Bucky’s neck and body. They disappear almost as quickly as he leaves them, due to Bucky’s enhanced supernatural healing, so Steve never really gets to look at and admire his work. He likes leaving them on Bucky’s neck, though, because it’s proof that Bucky likes to bare his throat to Steve.

Bucky’s told Steve before that he doesn’t like to show submission to anyone because he’s the Alpha, and baring his neck when he’s the one at the top of the werewolf hierarchy is an ultimate show of submission that Bucky’s normally not comfortable with. Steve knows enough about how the pack dynamic works to understand that showing submission like that is only ever something an Alpha would do as a show of trust. Bucky likes it when Steve bares his throat for him, but it’s a whole other level of trust for Bucky to do it back. But he does. And quite often.

Which is just another layer of romantic gestures Bucky does for him, and each one of them makes Steve fall even _more_ in love with him.

Steve tilts his head back further so Bucky has better access to his pale skin, running his hands up and over the overheated skin of Bucky’s arms to get his hands on Bucky’s shoulders so he can feel the way his muscles strain. Bucky’s _so_ muscular, hard in all the right places. It makes Steve hot all over.

Bucky also runs incredibly _hot_ , with his body practically giving off heat like a furnace. Bucky’s not entirely sure why his body temperature is so high, but it's a nice source of heat at night when they’re cuddling, and he’s happy to cuddle up to Steve to keep him warm during those colder winter months. Now, though, the heat from Bucky’s body only adds to Steve’s arousal. The warmth of his skin makes everything that much hotter, and Steve feels safe in Bucky’s arms, his warm embrace pulling Steve deeper into his lust.

Steve pulls Bucky’s mouth to his again, kissing him hotly, before leaning up so he can run his mouth over Bucky’s neck. Bucky makes quick work on Steve’s button down, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms so that Steve can take it off properly, and he throws it in the same direction of Bucky’s long sleeve once he’s gotten it off.

They’re both achingly hard now, and Steve’s starting to lose his patience.

“Bucky,” he says breathlessly, can’t seem to catch his breath when he catches sight of the miles of smooth skin in front of him, desperately reaching out and running his hand up Bucky’s navel until he reaches Bucky’s face and leans their foreheads together, panting heavily. Bucky seems to understand what Steve’s trying to get at, gently moving to lay Steve back down into their bed, settling back between Steve’s legs and shifting his hips down to grind tantalizingly over Steve’s dick, before he works on Steve’s waistband and pops the button of his jeans open.

As soon as Steve’s jeans and briefs are off, and he’s lying on their bed completely naked, gazing up into Bucky’s eyes, Bucky runs his hand up Steve’s left thigh, inching closer and closer to where Steve wants him most. He’s trembling with want, body taut tight with anticipation, and finally, Bucky’s warm hand closes around him, and lips are at his ear whispering hotly, “Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His voice is deep and thick with lust, and that, combined with the actual concern and honesty Bucky’s asking with, has Steve’s dick twitching, and he nods, moaning, “Yes. _Fuck,_ you feel good.”

Steve only swears when they’re like this, deep into their lovemaking, and it sets Bucky on fire, heat prickling over his skin. It’s the hottest goddamn thing on this earth to hear Steve brokenly curse when Bucky’s got his hands on him, desperate with the need to make his boyfriend fall apart.

Bucky smiles another wolfish grin down at him, before he’s leaning back and repositioning himself further down between Steve’s legs, moving his head down and sucking Steve right down tip to base.

“Oh, fuck!” Steve groans brokenly, hands coming to entwine in Bucky’s hair. “ _Bucky._ ”

Bucky sucks him down, moaning when Steve’s fingers pull and tug in his hair. Steve feels thick and heavy on his tongue, and Bucky groans around him. The vibrations from his throat make Steve arch off the bed, and he can feel how he’s steadily leaking precome into Bucky’s mouth, who just continues to work his mouth up and down Steve’s shaft sinfully.

He switches it up some, too, suckling at the tip and pinning Steve’s dick to his abdomen so he can lick at Steve’s sensitive balls and his throbbing underside vein. Every little sensation is driving Steve crazy, and he’s gasping out around his hitching breaths before too long.

Bucky gives one last lick to the head as he pulls back a little, arms coming up to hook around Steve’s thighs. He pulls, and Steve’s back falls even flatter against the mattress, and his lower body is pulled flush against Bucky's mouth, and it only takes him a second until he realizes what Bucky’s after.

“Bucky,” he moans lowly, voice deep with arousal, and Bucky glances up at him, a sinful grin on his lips. He moves his hands down a little, so he’s cupping Steve’s ass, and rests his thumbs against Steve’s cleft. He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss against the curve of Steve’s ass.

Steve’s hard and aching above him, his entire body flushed red with desire. He’s panting lightly, hands coming to rest in Bucky’s hair as his pulse beats erratically in his ears.

“God, you’re so beautiful, baby,” Bucky murmurs, lips against Steve’s skin, and Steve’s dick twitches at the compliment.

Bucky can’t help himself then. He lightly digs his thumbs in and pulls, moving down and burying his face between Steve’s cheeks. He licks over Steve’s hole sensually, and Steve gasps above him, legs moving to rest over Bucky’s shoulders as a high pitched moan rips itself from his throat.

Bucky licks over him again, pressing deeper, and Steve’s entire body shudders at the heat it sends through him. He closes his eyes, unable to look at Bucky because he knows he’s going to fucking lose it if he sees how Bucky’s working him over, beyond aroused at the way Bucky’s mouthing at him like he’d die if he stopped. Bucky’s mouth continues to lick at him hotly, pressing even deeper and hotter, as he moves over Steve’s hole shamelessly, moaning as he becomes even more worked up. Steve’s legs shake from their place on Bucky’s shoulders, and he throws his head back in pleasure, writhing as Bucky brings him to the edge.

“B-Buck,” Steve moans, arching off the bed when Bucky licks all the way up, past Steve’s hole and his balls and takes his shaft back down his throat. Heat coils in his abdomen, and he groans again. “Baby.” He licks his lips, panting. His voice sounds wrecked even to his own ears. “I-I’m gonna c-come, baby. _Fuck._ ”

That gets Bucky growling a guttural sound deep in his throat from around Steve’s shaft, and then he starts sucking _harder_ , desperate to get Steve to come, to get him to fall apart.

Normally, Steve would lay back and let Bucky work him over for hours, drawing him to the edge each time, but that’s not what he wants, not what he _needs_ right now.

“N-No, Buck,” Steve bites out around his hitching breaths. “I wanna come with you inside me.”

Bucky stops abruptly, and Steve gasps when he pulls off despite his previous statements, and Bucky growls, “Fuck, Steve. You drive me absolutely _crazy._ ”

Steve shutters in pleasure at the sound of Bucky’s growl, blushing. He’s not one to be particularly vocal in bed, leaving the sweet talking for his boyfriend, but Bucky’s always been adamant that Steve telling him what he wants always gets him so fucking hot he practically froths at the mouth with desire.

Steve always feels bashful telling him, and he flushes even deeper and gets a little breathy as he says, “ _Please_ , Buck. I want you inside me, baby.”

His words have Bucky’s eyes bleeding that familiar fluorescent red, sending a spark of heat down Steve’s spine, before Bucky’s shaking his head and willing his normal, albeit lust-blown, gray irises back and reaching for the lube in their bedside drawer hastily.

It’s not unusual for Bucky’s eyes to shift whenever they get like this. It’s actually a pretty common occurrence.

It gets harder for Bucky to control himself when he’s like this, adrenaline and arousal coursing through his body like a live wire and the scent of Steve’s own arousal swirling through his senses, but Steve knows that he tries to keep himself under wraps because he always thinks he’s going to freak Steve out or scare him if he shows any signs of his shift, despite what Steve’s told him.

Steve will be the first to admit that the first time Bucky’s eyes shifted when they were deep into making love, he hadn’t reacted the best he could have. He’d looked up, seen Bucky’s eyes glow that piercing red, and had gasped and stopped all movement. He hadn’t been scared, just a little bit shocked.

Bucky had taken it the wrong way, much to Steve’s continued dismay. He hadn’t realized what was wrong and noticed the harsh shift from the scent of Steve’s arousal to confusion and shock in the air, and stared into Steve’s eyes for answers, asking panickedly, _“What’s wrong, baby? Are you alright, did I hurt you?,"_ only to see the reflection of his red eyes glowing back at him in Steve’s blue irises.

Steve thinks he was probably just embarrassed, but a part of himself still hates that he made Bucky feel like he needed to hide himself from _Steve_ of all people.

He’d pulled out and turned completely around, eyes screwed shut, and worked on reeling himself back in. Steve had put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to comfort him and apologize, when Bucky had shaken him off and just growled in a very threatening type of way, defensive. Steve’s heart had sped up at the sound, still not scared but frozen in that moment, and then Bucky’s eyes had cleared of the Alpha red and the concerned gray had flooded back in, the smell of sage attacking his senses and making him spring into action. He’d reached out to Steve to apologize, hearing the sporadic and panicked beating of Steve’s heart, but Steve was frozen to the spot and flinched when Bucky had reached out to him.

Bucky had felt _horrible_ that night. He’d repeatedly apologized, sitting stark naked on top of his own bed in the apartment he’d been living in at the time, keeping his distance in case Steve didn’t want him near.

Steve had told him that he’d had nothing to feel sorry about, that he was just shocked and _not_ scared because, dammit, he _knew_ what he might be getting himself into when he decided to start a relationship with a _werewolf._ Until Bucky had revealed that he was a werewolf, Steve hadn’t known that they had even existed. He didn’t know if their first time together would be. . . _different_ because he wasn’t sure how Bucky’s body had worked. But Bucky had explained all of it — all of his wolfy proclivities, how it’s hard for him to control his wolf when his adrenaline starts flowing like that sometimes — and had made sure, even _before_ they actually became sexually involved with each other, that Steve understood that it was a possibility that Bucky might start shifting while they were having sex. Steve knew that. It had just caught him a little off guard to actually see it, especially when Bucky always ensured that he was in control of himself and his shift whenever he and Steve were together.

It had only taken half an hour of going back and forth in their apologies for them to start back up again, Bucky’s eyes strictly staying that beautiful gray that seemed to fluoresce on their own in the moonlight.

For Steve, though, Bucky’s eyes shifting during their lovemaking is an absolute turn on. The fact that Steve can get Bucky so aroused that he literally loses control over himself enough that he can’t stop his eyes from shifting is such a fucking turn on to Steve that it makes his entire body hot with arousal.

He’s told Bucky as much too, but Bucky still remains adamant about keeping himself in check. He’s even asked Steve to promise to tell him if his eyes shift when they get like this, too caught up in both of their pleasure that he forgets to reign in his wolf.

While Steve understands that Bucky’s trying to keep his shift under control _now_ , he also knows that part of Bucky’s inability to control his wolf also has to do with stopping himself from reacting too strongly to hearing Steve beg for him. The moment Steve starts begging him, Bucky completely unravels. Bucky’s never admitted to it, but Steve knows that it’s the one thing that turns Bucky on the most, that it’s his greatest weakness — the way Steve moans for him, will _whimper_ out a breathless plea for him — and that it’s the one thing that always gets Bucky aching with desire.

Bucky’s bringing a lubed finger up to Steve’s entrance a moment later, crawling back in between Steve’s legs and gently pushing in. Steve inhales at the first feel of pressure, before exhaling on a moan when Bucky fully thrusts his finger in.

“God, Steve, you’re so beautiful, baby,” Bucky says breathlessly, beginning to thrust his finger in and out slowly.

Steve moans loudly, loves it when Bucky talks to him like this, like he’s the most precious thing Bucky’s ever seen.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Steve,” Bucky continues, thrusting his finger in faster, harder. “I wish you could see yourself, sweetheart. You look so pretty like this.”

Steve whimpers at Bucky’s words, dick twitching and leaking again while he blushes bright and chokes out, “ _Buck._ ”

“Look at you, baby. You can’t ever get enough, can you?” Bucky asks, his voice low and deep. Steve moans, pushing his hips down on Bucky’s finger and forcing it deeper into his body. Bucky’s eyes darken. “Are you ready for another finger, baby?”

Steve nods shakily, too worked up to respond as he shoves his hips down again and feels Bucky slowly push in another finger, stretching him even further. He gasps at the buildup in pressure, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

Bucky lets him adjust for a few minutes, and when Steve nods at him again, he begins thrusting his fingers up in wanton, working Steve open while Steve breathlessly pants his name.

Soon, Bucky’s worked four fingers into Steve’s pretty hole, thrusting in and out fast and hard as Steve absolutely loses it from his place on the bed. Bucky’s thrusting his hips down against Steve’s thigh, making himself moan and whimper at the friction. When Bucky’s fingers brush over his prostate, Steve’s crying out, “Oh, _fuck_ , Bucky, oh my, _God_.”

Bucky smiles a predatory smile down at him, running his fingers over and over against that hot little bundle of nerves, and Steve whimpers and begs, “ _Please_ , baby.”

Bucky chokes out a groan and shakily pulls his fingers out as Steve whines at the loss, before Bucky’s quickly moving to rub lube over his huge, swollen dick, and positioning himself between Steve’s legs.

Bucky can’t carry or receive diseases because of his werewolf healing, and Steve’s been clean his entire life, so they’ve stopped using condoms for a while now. It makes their lovemaking much hotter, but it also allows Steve to feel every inch, and _fuck_ , Bucky stretches him so fucking nicely.

“Okay, baby?” Bucky asks, eyes flickering up to watch Steve. Steve momentarily pauses, inhaling deeply. Bucky always asks him this, like he’s always trying to make sure that Steve’s alright when they’re like this.

Steve looks down at him, takes in Bucky’s gorgeous body and feels himself flush further. Bucky’s trembling between Steve’s legs, his eyes wide, and a deep red blush on his cheeks, betraying exactly how worked up he is. Steve feels a thrill run down his spine at the sight of him, and he nods, panting, “Yeah, Buck. Wanna feel you,” and then Bucky’s slowly rocking his hips forward and pushing into Steve’s tight heat.

The thing about Bucky, much to Steve’s continuous appreciation and absolute fucking praise over, is that he’s hung like a goddamn horse. He’s so fucking big, and he gets Steve’s entire body aching with want every time he catches sight of Bucky’s huge, swollen dick. Steve doesn’t know if Bucky’s enhanced werewolf genes had any help in making that part of his anatomy match the rest of him, because he’s a big, muscular guy, but fuck does his body shake and tremble with desire when Bucky’s finally deep inside him. It sets his entire body on fire, and his brain literally turns to mush, too lost in the feel of Bucky’s enormous dick stretching him hotly, like Bucky was made specifically to fit inside him like a piece he never knew was missing.

Steve lets out a gasp at the stretch, feeling the thickness of Bucky’s shaft hug his insides. The sensation makes his head feel like it’s full of cotton balls, and his eyes roll back in his head as his back arches off the bed and he digs his nails into Bucky’s arms.

Once Bucky’s fully sheathed inside him, Steve feels the slight tremble of his arms as his body shakes, wrecked with desire and the feel of Steve’s body wrapped so intimately around him, and Steve brings his hands up from where they were on Bucky’s arms so that he can cup Bucky’s jaw and place a kiss on his lips while he forces his body to adjust to the thickness stretching him.

Bucky moans into Steve’s mouth, moving one hand down and grabbing a hold of Steve’s right leg so that he can throw it around his waist. The angle causes Bucky to shift even further into him, and Steve gasps when he feels a wave of heat work its way down his spine.

Bucky tentatively pulls his hips back and thrusts back in, causing the both of them to groan at the sensation of pleasure.

After a few shallow and slow thrusts, Steve digs the heel of his foot that’s wrapped around Bucky’s waist into the skin of his ass, silently pleading for him to move harder and faster, arousal building inside his veins.

Bucky complies quickly, pulling out almost to the tip and slamming back in. Steve moans loudly, and a possessive, deep growl emits itself from Bucky’s chest as he starts to steadily pick up his pace.

Steve’s moaning and whimpering loudly as Bucky thrusts down into him while Bucky himself continues to emit a constant litany of animalistic growls as he pounds deep into him. Steve’s dick is leaking a steady stream of precome onto his abdomen, and the smell of it makes Bucky’s vision blurry at the edges.

A particularly deep thrust has Steve letting out a high-pitched whimper, and Bucky immediately thrusts down into him again, knowing he’s hitting Steve’s prostate full on.

Steve’s a mess below him, arms wrapped around Bucky’s back, and Bucky can feel his nails dig into his shoulder blades and pull at every caress against his prostate.

The hand gripping Steve’s thigh digs in roughly and squeezes, and Steve knows that he’s probably going to have finger shaped marks with how hard Bucky’s gripping him, but he’s so turned on that the thought only sends another wave of heat to pool between his legs.

Bucky’s never rough with him, always so gentle in the way he touches Steve. He sometimes forgets how much stronger he is than Steve when his head is clouded with lust like this, when he’s too caught up in the feel of Steve’s body that he doesn’t realize that he’s not really holding his strength back anymore. Steve knows that Bucky’s holding him tightly enough that he’ll bruise. Steve loves the way Bucky touches him, though, and all he feels in this moment is safe and wanted.

It’s overwhelming for Steve sometimes to make love with Bucky when Bucky makes him feel so safe and vulnerable, so open and bare. In these moments together, their love for each other feels so much more heightened. Sometimes, Steve often wonders if love is too weak of a word for what he feels for Bucky, or what Bucky feels for him. He’s never felt this strongly for anyone else like how he feels for Bucky — like their love is beyond what anyone else has ever felt before, so tender and strong and unbreakable. They’re devoted to each other in ways Steve’s never experienced with another person, and he just feels so much love for Bucky that he feels it in every atom that makes up his body. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want anyone else the way he wants Bucky.

Bucky moves so sinuously inside him that Steve feels like every nerve is igniting beneath his skin. He’s completely narrowed in on Bucky, feels like his heart's beating just for him.

Every thrust has Bucky pounding into his prostate, and Steve whimpers beneath, his ass clenching. He digs his nails into Bucky’s shoulders and groans, throwing his head back as he pants, “ _B-Bucky_ , I’m gonna come.”

Bucky growls hotly, pistoning his hips as he speeds up even faster, pushing in even harder and says, “Yeah, baby, I want you to come for me. Wanna see you make a mess for me, sweetheart.”

His words have Steve gasping, and a minute later, Steve’s spilling between the both of them, moaning loudly. Bucky growls again, eyes bleeding Alpha red at the sight of Steve falling apart below him, before he’s thrusting in once, twice more and chasing after his own release in Steve’s tight heat, groaning out, “Steve!”

They’re both panting, gazing down into each other’s eyes, but Bucky makes sure not to collapse on top of Steve and runs his thumb against Steve’s cheekbone, smiling down at him.

It’s silent for a moment, both of them working to catch their breaths. Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s ribs, tracing over them until his hand’s resting against Bucky’s heart. Bucky’s pulse beats erratically under his fingertips, and Steve grins, moving his hand up to rub his thumb against Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky’s werewolf abilities may allow him to run for miles on end and do a thousand different workouts and never get winded, but as soon as he’s got Steve underneath him, he’s breathing heavily like he’s just run a marathon, trying valiantly to get his breathing under control.

Steve smiles at him, turning his head so he can kiss Bucky’s palm as he looks back into Bucky’s red irises, and careful to keep his voice level and steady, he says slowly, “Your eyes are red, Buck.”

Bucky immediately closes them, taking a deep breath. “Oh. Sorry, baby. I got a little carried away.”

Steve reaches up and grabs Bucky’s face and gently asks, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Buck. Let me see your eyes, baby.”

Bucky sighs a little and opens them slowly after a moment, unable to refuse Steve anything, and sighs deeply as he stares down at Steve. Steve just gives him a warm smile.

“There’s my Alpha wolf,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I love your eyes, Bucky. They’re beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.”

That gets Bucky blushing, playfully nipping at Steve’s fingers that are close to his mouth in deflection. Bucky’s never been able to accept the compliments and praises Steve bestows on him, like he doesn’t know how incredibly attractive he is, or how stunning he is. He barely notices the looks he gets when he and Steve are out in public together, too busy watching the people around him and Steve with a menacing look because being out in public sometimes makes his wolf antsy with so many scents and conversations. For as much as random people flirt with Steve, even more of those people flirt with Bucky, who always just looks at them with a blank look. Steve’s confident that no one spares him a glance when Bucky’s around because they’re too enamoured with his mysterious eyes and brooding face. Steve’s well aware of the effect Bucky has on people, but if those same people could see the usual cold and stoic man now, wrapped around his boyfriend as he blushes a deep red at a compliment, they’d fall even deeper into Bucky’s mystery, pulled in by his captivating allure.

Bucky just gives him a small smile, shaking his head slightly and replying, “Not as beautiful as you. Just the sight of you takes my breath away.” Steve blushes at his words, and Bucky’s smile widens as it turns sinful. He purposefully lowers his voice and says slowly, “Especially when you make that face you do when I’m deep inside of you.”

Steve feels himself flush even deeper, and he shakes his head bashfully, turning his face away shyly. “Bucky!” he says exasperatedly, even as he huffs a soft laugh. Bucky’s always had quite the mouth on him. Bucky’s own chuckle has him grinning, despite his slight bashfulness. Steve shakes his head again, but he feels his smile widen as he says, “You’re wicked, you know that?”

“Mmm,” Bucky responds, nosing along Steve’s jaw. “Can’t help it, baby. You just always feel so good. Like you were fucking made just for me.”

“God, Bucky, so do you,” Steve says back, laughing slightly, but he blushes even deeper. “I swear, you make me crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm,” Bucky hums again, pressing a kiss to Steve’s swollen lips, “Ditto.”

Steve laughs, before he winces at the pull inside him, oversensitive from where Bucky’s still pressed to the hilt inside of him. Bucky pulls away from him slowly, muttering apologies, before Steve’s left feeling open and empty, and he can’t stop his face from twisting up in displeasure.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Bucky says, pressing another kiss to Steve’s lips before climbing down and off Steve, and Steve can’t help the way his eyes trail over Bucky’s back, down to his amazing ass, and over his muscular thighs and calves as Bucky disappears into the bathroom. Steve hears the water turn on a second later, and then Bucky’s returning just as quickly with a wet, warm washcloth.

Steve smiles and says, “Thank you, baby,” as Bucky cleans him, closing his eyes as Bucky’s gentle touch runs over him. He’s relaxed and tired, content to let Bucky take care of him, but he opens his eyes tentatively when he feels Bucky freeze over his thigh and inhale sharply.

Steve looks down to where his right thigh is, sees the finger-shaped bruises he knew he was going to have, and looks up to see Bucky’s jaw clench in anger, and a noise that sounds like a low growl emits from his throat.

“Oh my, God,” Bucky says quietly, before inhaling sharply again and exhaling a trembling breath. Steve recognizes this as Bucky trying to calm himself down before he can get too worked up, but it’s clearly not working. “Steve, I’m so fucking _sorry_ , oh my, _God._ ”

“Buck, sweetheart, what are you talking about?” Steve asks, moving to grab Bucky’s face so Bucky will look at him. “Hey,” Steve says, trying to look Bucky in the eyes. “I’m fine, baby.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches again, and still not meeting Steve’s eyes, he says sharply, “Steve, fucking — ” he cuts himself off. “Look at what I did to you.”

The soft glint in his eyes has completely disappeared, and the stoic, brooding mask begins to take its place over Bucky’s face. He’s staring down at Steve’s thigh with a menacing scowl on his face, and his body is stiff and tense, clearly on guard and defensive.

Steve shakes his head. “Buck, you know how easy I bruise. It’s not a big deal, baby. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to Steve’s then, still blazing that bright red, as he coldly says, “ _‘Not a big deal’?_ You have a bruise of my _handprint_ on you, Steve. It’s a lot more than a _big deal_.”

This is the Bucky that Steve knows everyone else sees — the brooding, scowly and stoic man who exudes intimidation and malignity. Steve’s had three years’ worth of practice to read Bucky’s body language, and while he looks seconds away from outright snarling and ripping someone’s head off, Steve knows he’s just upset with himself because he thinks he’s hurt Steve. Steve can see just by the way he’s holding himself, breathing heavily, and clenching his fists tightly before relaxing them at his side that he’s worried and scared, like it physically pains him to think he’s caused Steve harm.

Steve’s not exactly delicate, what with the looming physique of a six foot, incredibly fit and built homicide detective, but Bucky’s an _Alpha werewolf._ He’s the strongest creature on earth. He could break Steve in half as easily as _breathing_. It’s kind of a miracle that he’s only got a few bruises; if Bucky wanted to, Steve knows Bucky could have easily ripped him apart.

Steve also knows that Bucky’s steadily getting worked up, but this time he’s starting to shift from being upset rather than anger. Steve needs to get him to calm down _right the fuck now._

“Bucky, baby, listen to me,” Steve says, getting up on his knees so he can be eye level with his boyfriend. “You didn’t hurt me, and I’m fine. Breathe for me, baby, you’ve got to calm down.”

Steve can tell that Bucky’s growing steadily more upset with himself, and if he shifts now, it’ll be _way_ worse than him shifting from getting angry, and Bucky wolfing out is not how the rest of this night was supposed to go. They should be cuddling together in their bed, lulling the other to sleep because, yes, it _is_ late, and Steve’s got to wake up extra early tomorrow so that he can make sure he gets his run in, and Bucky just keeps growing more and more upset, snarling when he looks down and sees the deep red handprint on Steve’s thigh again.

Bucky’s _so_ incredibly protective over Steve. He’s constantly worrying about Steve when he’s at work, or when he has to work late at night. He gets all moody and growly when someone does something to upset Steve, and it gets even worse when Bucky’s the one who’s upset him. The thought that _he’s_ the one to hurt the person he cares about most in the entire world when he’s supposed to protect Steve from anything and everything has Bucky so upset with himself that he’s practically vibrating with rage.

He gets upset like this anytime he thinks he’s done something to hurt Steve. When Bucky had first seen the red splotches left by his mouth or his touch on Steve’s _entire body_ after that first night of lovemaking, he’d been so upset with himself that he’d shifted. It’d taken Steve nearly an hour to calm him down and make him comfortable enough to shift back, and even then he’d been sullen and quiet until Steve had explained that his skin is sensitive and Bucky _really_ shouldn’t feel guilty about it because Steve thought the marks were incredibly _hot._

It’d been the first night that Steve had learned that it takes forever for Bucky to calm down when he shifts because he’s upset. He’s found a remedy that helps speed up the process since then, and it’s the one thing that pops into his head now.

Steve takes one of Bucky’s hands, the one that’s not holding the washcloth, and brings it up to his naked chest so Bucky can feel his heart beating, steady and loud in his chest.

It brings a calmness to Bucky when he hears Steve’s heartbeat, and the extra stimulation of being able to not only hear but feel Steve’s heartbeat is normally enough for him to start forcing his breathing to slow and his body to relax.

Bucky can detect lies just by listening to the beating of a person’s heart, so he knows that Bucky will have to believe him when he says, “I swear to you, Buck, I’m not hurt, and I’m fine. I _liked_ it, Bucky. You didn’t do _anything_ wrong. I’m okay.”

Bucky feels and hears how Steve’s heart remains steady, and he just deflates against Steve then, moving towards where Steve’s resting up on his knees on top of the bed, burying his face into Steve’s neck.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Bucky says pitifully, shifting slightly so that he can put his arms around Steve. His voice cracks, and he mutters, “I’m _so sorry_ , Steve.”

Steve melts into him, whispering, “You don’t need to be, baby. _Everything’s okay._ ”

All the fight seems to leave Bucky as he completely slumps forward, and he just stands next to their bed in the middle of their bedroom, stark naked and wrapped around his boyfriend.

“C'mon, Buck. Let’s get into bed, baby,” Steve says, pulling Bucky onto the bed and shuffling to the top, where he kicks the comforter off and crawls underneath it.

Bucky follows him, still looking upset and broody, but he lies down and wraps his arms around Steve after he throws the washcloth towards the laundry hamper.

He kisses the back of Steve’s neck, muttering another apology, but Steve just turns around in his arms and kisses him deeply to shut him up.

He pulls back, a little shocked when he sees Bucky’s eyes are _still_ glowing brightly, and says, “Your eyes are still red, Bucky.”

Bucky blinks, like _that’s_ going to make them turn back into his normal gray, and mutters, “Probably because I’m upset.”

“Please don’t be upset, Buck,” Steve says, running his thumb along Bucky’s jaw. “I love you, and I’m not mad at you or upset at you. I like when you leave marks on me, baby, you know that. Don’t think about it like that — ”

“How are you thinking about it?” Bucky cuts him off, frowning deeply.

Steve’s quiet for a second, trying to piece together his thoughts. “I think,” he starts, moving closer so he can press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before continuing, “that you lost control of yourself for a second, because we were so caught up in each other that you forgot to pull yourself back.” Bucky looks at him, still frowning, but he works an arm around Steve, gently rubbing over the dark red handprint on his thigh. Steve leans forward, whispering against his lips, “It’s not a bad thing, Buck.”

“It becomes a bad thing when I lose control of myself enough to hurt you,” Bucky says quietly, brooding.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Steve argues, bringing both of his hands up to cup Bucky’s jawline, a blush working at his cheeks. “I actually thought it was. . .very — _arousing_ , Bucky.”

Bucky’s frown slips from his face and a smile begins to curve at his lips, and he pulls Steve closer to him, moving Steve’s right leg gently to slot between his legs. “You drive me crazy, Steve,” he mutters, running his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “I love you, too,” he says after a moment, kissing Steve’s forehead, and Steve smiles at him, before pulling back a little and looking into Bucky’s eyes, frowning at what he sees there.

He can tell Bucky’s calmed down enough now, if still slightly a little upset, but he’s relaxed completely onto the bed as his features soften and his stoic expression falls away, but his eyes are still Alpha red, and Steve looks at him cautiously, a little puzzled as to why he hasn’t changed his eyes back to their normal gray.

“Are you okay, Buck?” Steve asks, stroking Bucky’s cheekbone. “Your eyes are never red for this long.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, Stevie. They’ll probably go back to normal here soon. This happens sometimes.” He shrugs, settling further into the bed, unbothered. “If they’re not back to gray in the morning, you can worry about it then.”

But he’s smiling softly, head leaned down so he can nose against Steve’s face.

Steve smiles, whispering, “Okay, grumpy.” He places a kiss on Bucky’s mouth. “I love you. Goodnight.”

Bucky shifts so that Steve’s pulled even closer to his chest, before he says, “Goodnight, Stevie. I love you, too.”

The last thing Steve sees before he slips into a deep sleep is Bucky’s glowing, gorgeous red eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read so far! You guys are literally amazing! All of your comments and kudos mean the world to me.
> 
> And, here's chapter three! A bit of a shorter chapter, but I think I'll post again in two days to compensate. Again, thank you so much for reading! And, as always, enjoy!

_“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” — William Shakespeare_

The next day at work, Steve’s feeling pretty content. He’d been able to go on his run this morning, fortunately with Bucky, so he’s not feeling antsy or wound up.

Like Bucky had said, his eyes were their normal gray in the morning. He’d apologized again, running his hand soothingly over Steve’s thigh when they’d still been lying in bed together, but Steve had given him a stern look and a raised eyebrow, and Bucky had backed off petulantly, tail between his legs and all.

Dog jokes aside, Steve and Bucky both had a good night and good morning, so Steve’s feeling pretty mellowed out from where he’s sitting at his desk, drinking his coffee from his favorite mug, and flipping through the Danvers file.

When he spots Sam a few minutes later, walking towards him with a big smirk on his face, he can tell that Sam knows it, too.

“There you are, man. I’ve been calling and calling you,” Steve huffs, sitting the file down when Sam reaches his own desk that’s adjacent to Steve’s, shrugging off his jacket.

“You have a good night, Steve?” Sam asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Steve just looks at him. “What?”

“You’ve got a glow,” Sam informs him, leaning onto Steve’s desk and snatching the file up, waggling his eyebrows again.

“What _glow_?” Steve asks incredulously, looking at Sam like he’s grown another head.

“The sex glow, man! It’s all over your face!” Sam says, excited, but he doesn’t say it too loudly.

Steve looks around anyway, making sure no one has heard them, before he blushes deeply and says, “I don’t have a _glow._ I’m just in a good mood.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam snorts, opening up the file and flipping through it. “Tell Bucky he’s definitely done a job well done to get you actually looking happy while staring at a homicide board.”

“Oh my, God, Sam,” Steve huffs again, a little mortified, before running his hands down his face and sighing. He looks back to Sam, crossing his arms, and says nonchalantly, “I'm just excited. I found the murder weapon.”

Sam snaps his eyes up to Steve’s, and he drops his teasing expression for a serious one. He looks down at the file, flipping through one of the pages. “I thought Sharon told you that she went through all of the products we brought to her.”

“It’s what’s not here that’s important,” Steve replies, pushing himself up from his chair. He moves towards the murder board they’ve been compiling with all their evidence, pointing at one of the many pieces of paper hanging on the glass. “Look, the sign-out sheet. Carol signed out four products the day before she died. CSUs only found three. The killer probably took the fourth.”

“You figure that out before or after you got laid?” Sam says, moving from his own desk and reading through the sign-out sheet.

“Sam!” Steve says quietly, indignant, punching Sam slightly on the shoulder. “I figured it out while I was waiting for you to get in, you _ass_. You’re, like, half an hour late, man.”

Sam just chuckles, gripping the underside of the sign-out sheet from where it’s posted on the board, shrugging as he says, “I was talking to Natasha. Glad to know how much my presence was missed, though, sweet cheeks.” Steve rolls his eyes, and Sam runs his eyes over the sheet, continuing more seriously, “So, someone put poison in Carol’s Tru2Color Blonde?”

“That’s what I think. I just need to get Sharon to confirm it.”

He grabs the file out of Sam’s hands and turns back towards the entrance of the precinct and down the stairs that lead to Sharon’s lab. Sam follows after him, and he inputs his code into the keypad.

They both walk in as soon as the door opens, and Sharon looks up from where she’d been studying a slide under a microscope.

“Hey, boys,” she greets, moving her protective glasses up to rest in her hair.

“Hey, Sharon. Is there any way to tell if that nicotine was absorbed through Carol’s scalp?” Steve asks, moving to stand in front of the microscope.

“I’ll check her hair follicles,” Sharon says, snapping her gloves. “I’ve been pretty occupied testing all of those products you guys had bagged, but after I got off the phone with you last night, Steve, I got called back in.”

Steve glances at her questioningly. “For what?”

“These little guys,” she says, turning around and grabbing a large test tube. “I was just about to call you guys down. CSUs found these in the power couple’s bed.”

Steve glances at the test tube Sharon holds up and sees four or five small, dead red bugs.

“Ugh, bedbugs?” Sam asks, grimacing.

“That rash I showed you was actually bites. Since these things are little bloodsuckers, they carry the DNA of whoever’s been rolling around in those sheets. Your vic wasn’t on any heart medication, nor was she taking any cancer drugs. It was the wife that was stepping out.”

“Can those mini vampires tell us who with?” Sam asks, nodding towards the test tube.

“I can give you a lot more than that,” Sharon replies, sitting the tube down. “I’ve got bedbug DNA from three women. When I ran it, I found Carol’s, the wife’s, and an unknown female who’s not in CODIS.”

“So, we’re back to knowing the killer’s a female,” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, we’ve already ruled out the wife as a suspect,” Sam says, leaning back against a countertop. “We need a list of names of anyone who had access to Carol and Maria’s house.”

“Hold on,” Steve says, straightening up, “didn’t Minerva say she worked with Carol twenty-four seven in the interview you and I conducted? I thought I saw something about her sleeping over the night before Carol’s murder in the file when I was reading over it earlier.”

Sam moves to grab his pocket notebook and opens it to a page scribbled with notes, nodding as he reads. “Yeah, I wrote that down in there before we went home last night. She said that she often spent the night so she didn’t have to wake up early after working late.” He’s quiet for another second, reading over his notes, before he stiffens. “Wait, Sharon. Did you say cancer drugs?”

“Yeah, for a rare form of cancer I discovered our suspect had last night,” Sharon confirms, nodding.

Sam abruptly turns to Steve, snapping the pocket notebook shut. “Minerva paused in the middle of our interview to take some kind of nausea medication.”

“Okay,” Steve replies, waiting for Sam to continue. “Why was she taking it?”

“To help her with side effects of intensive chemotherapy treatments.”

Sharon freezes, snapping her eyes to meet Sam’s. “Looks like you just found our perp.”

Sam looks at Steve, smiling smugly, and declares, “Let’s go get us an arrest warrant.”

—

“Sharon confirmed it,” Steve says as he and Sam step off of the elevator, reading off of his screen from the text message she’s just sent him. “The poison was absorbed into Carol’s system through her scalp.”

He’s about to pocket his phone when another message comes through.

**Sharon Carter:**

_Results on the serial numbers on the pill bottles just came in. Positive identification for our suspect._

_Thanks, Sharon_ , Steve sends back to her. Sharon responds with a smiley face.

“And the bottles of chlorthalidone and metolazone are Minerva's,” Steve adds, glancing at Sam.

“That’ll be enough to hold her. We need to get her to confess,” Sam replies.

“Might not be that hard,” Steve says, letting his eyes sweep over the lobby. Minerva’s standing with her back to them from where she’s perched behind the welcome desk, rifling through papers and files in a tall file cabinet behind her. “I don’t think we’re dealing with a psychopath here. Maybe just a woman scorned. Let’s keep the focus on Carol. If she and Carol are as close as Minerva claims, she’s bound to feel at least somewhat remorseful.”

Sam nods.

Steve’s phone buzzes in his hand again, and when he looks down, he sees a preview of a text message from Bucky.

 **Bucky Barnes:**

_Sam can fuck off. . ._

Steve smiles at the notification, already forming an idea about what Bucky’s texted him, but hastily pockets his phone when they’re only a few steps away from the welcome desk. He’ll have to check Bucky’s response later.

“Hey, Minerva,” Sam says as they step in front of the desk, and Steve watches as Minerva startles and turns around to face them, a confused look on her face.

She smiles at them. “Hey, Detectives. Are you looking for Wendy? I’m her new assistant.” She motions to herself, before clasping her hands together in front of her body, waiting.

She’s dressed even more immaculately than she had been the day prior, wearing an expensive blouse and pencil skirt. Her cat-eyes are even sharper in the bright light of the office space.

“Actually, Minerva, we want to talk to you,” Steve says.

“We appreciate how helpful you’ve been, but you forgot to mention one thing,” Sam adds, taking a step forward towards her desk before continuing, “You have cancer.”

“Cancer?” Minerva replies, narrowing her eyes, and the confused pull of her eyebrows causes her eyes to squint somewhat unattractively.

“Angiosarcoma, in fact. And a long history of heart problems,” Sam says, staring down at her coolly.

Steve takes another step forward. “The pill bottles we found in Carol’s things for blood pressure medication are yours, aren’t they? We traced the serial number, Minerva. Want to guess who they came back to?”

“I. . .” she starts, before taking a deep breath and starting again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve pulls the sign-out sheet from his pocket, unfolding it and showing it to her. “Pretty sure if we showed this to an expert, they’d confirm that this was you, signing out Carol’s Tru2Color Blonde.”

Minerva glances at it, swallowing audibly. “No, uh, Wendy runs that closet.”

“You wanted us to think it was her, so that you wouldn’t be considered a suspect. So, what was it, Minerva? We have your DNA in Carol’s bed. Were you having an affair with Carol’s wife?” Steve narrows his eyes. “Were you having an affair with Carol?”

“What? No, of course not,” Minerva scoffs.

“Then what was it?” Sam continues, crossing his arms.

“I was in love with Carol,” Minerva says harshly. “I would never do anything to harm her.”

“But you did, anyway, didn’t you, Minerva?” Steve asks, and Minerva’s cat-eyes sharpen.

Minerva doesn’t say anything for a moment. She pauses, and Steve watches as her hands begin to tremble. “Carol was always looking out for me,” she says quietly. She inhales shakily, bringing her eyes up to meet Steve’s. “We weren’t apart very often. She went with me to every single one of my oncology and chemotherapy appointments.” She pauses, before her jaw tightens. “But her wife wanted her home more.”

“Why did you kill her, Minerva?” Steve asks.

“Carol told me that she was going to stop coming with me to my appointments so she could spend more time with her wife and daughter,” Minerva bites out, angry.

“She was picking her family over you,” Sam nods. “You were going to lose your support system.”

Minerva nods, enraged. “But I was her family, too! I was so mad at her. So, I checked out the bottle of hair dye and put the nicotine in it, but I swear, I felt awful about it. She came to my hotel room saying how sorry she was that she’d no longer be going with me, two hours after I’d helped her apply the hair dye. I pushed her into the wall and her head started bleeding.” She takes a deep breath. “I followed her down to the hotel bathroom, but she was already unconscious. I tried to revive her, but she wasn’t responding, so I ran. It’s. . . the _worst_ thing I’ve ever done.”

“Where did you get the nicotine from?” Steve asks.

Minerva’s hands clench into fists. “From someone in an online chatroom. I don’t know where he got it from.”

“How convenient,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” Sam guesses.

Minerva whispers, “I don’t even have the cancer anymore. My doctor called to tell me I went into remission this morning.”

“If you tell us where the hair dye bottle is, we’ll make sure that the D.A. knows how. . . _remorseful_ you are,” Steve tells her, raising an eyebrow. A silent offer; a confession for a more comfortable incarceration.

Minerva closes her eyes, inhales a shaky breath, and a tear drops down her cheek. She turns around, reaching for her purse, and both Steve and Sam cautiously place their hands on top of their guns, ready in case she tries anything. She may be acting like she’s cooperating, but neither Sam nor Steve are going to discredit any last ditch attempts she might make to evade her arrest.

Minerva just turns back to them, extending a Ziploc bag that has the hair dye bottle safely placed inside it. Another tear drops down her cheek.

“Thank you,” Steve says, taking the bottle and handing it to Sam. He reaches into his jacket pocket, where his cuffs are, and slowly takes them out.

Minerva just turns around, hands already placed behind her back.

Steve glances at Sam, sharing a look, before tightening the cuffs around her wrist.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Carol Danvers, Minerva. You have the right to remain silent. . .”

—

 _Sam can fuck off, Steve. There is no fucking way that fucking Chopped is better than The Great British Baking Show. What the fuck,_ Bucky’s message reads when he’s finally able to look at it after they’d taken Minerva into custody.

Steve chuckles when he reads it.

 _It’s cathartic, Buck,_ he replies, grinning. 

**Bucky Barnes:**

_Take that back right now. There is nothing cathartic about Chopped, you punk._

**Steve Rogers:**

_I love The Great British Baking Show just as much as you do, Bucky._

_Besides, I don’t think it’s better! Sam does! You’re the one that put on Chopped last night. Sometimes I just need the intense camera angles to get my blood pumping_ _instead of those sweet British pleasantries._

 _Bullshit, Steve_ , comes Bucky’s response. _You were half asleep last night. You missed all of those intense camera angles._

**Steve Rogers:**

_I was distracted._

**Bucky Barnes:**

_I didn’t do anything! You’re the one that climbed into my lap, sweetheart._

Steve smiles at the message, feeling his cheeks darken.

Before he can reply, Bucky sends him another message. _And I don’t remember you complaining when I had my mouth on you._

**Steve Rogers:**

_Oh my, God, Bucky._

**Bucky Barnes:**

_So, should I not do that thing with my tongue for you again tonight?_

Steve’s entire face turns red.

**Steve Rogers:**

_Bucky!_

**Bucky Barnes:**

_Sorry, baby. I know you’re working. I don’t want to get you all worked up. I didn’t mean to take you away from your important detective work._

**Steve Rogers:**

_You always get me worked up, you jerk. I’m going to hold you to that tongue thing. I’ll see you at the restaurant tonight, grumpy._

_I love you,_ comes Bucky’s response. _Can’t wait. Tell Sam he's fucking wrong._

—

“Hey, Devil and Prada,” Sharon hollers at them as they walk back through the precinct door a few hours later after they’ve made their arrest, “nice work on the Danvers case.”

“Yeah, you, too, Sharon, just as long as I get to be Devil,” Sam points at her, high fiving her before walking towards his desk, a big grin on his face as he sips at a to-go cup full of soda from the Mexican restaurant he and Steve had eaten at for lunch.

“So,” Sharon smiles at Steve, stepping forward and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "I’m not letting you celebrate your big case alone at Aunt Peggy’s engagement party. Sam mentioned you needed a date.” She smiles up at him. “What’s the dress code, again?”

“Sharon, you don’t have to do that,” Steve assures her, shaking his head but smiles at her generosity.

“Oh, come on. Free drinks, and I’m assuming Peggy’s vapid soon-to-be-husband insisted on a good caterer. Besides, if you’re gonna stand me up for that premiere tonight . . .” Sharon trails off, smiling at him.

“And you’re just doing this out of — ” Steve starts, raising his eyebrows.

“Charity, yeah. Poor little detective with no one to go with him,” Sharon laughs, nodding.

“Bucky’s just got something going on tomorrow night,” Steve shrugs, unrepentant. The real reason that Bucky isn’t going is because Peggy’s engagement party tomorrow night is on the night of the full moon, and although Bucky has exemplary control over himself, he doesn’t want to risk anything going awry in front of a large number of people in case the moon starts to affect him.

“I’ll already be there, Steve. And at least you’ll have someone to talk to,” Sharon shrugs, doing that thing again where she weighs his options for him.

Steve bites his bottom lip, deliberating. After a moment, he nods. “All right. Thank you, Sharon. I’ll meet you there tomorrow tonight.”

The night actually ends up going pretty well. The hours pass by relatively quickly when he’s got Sharon there to talk to. He makes sure to talk to Peggy and her fiancé, assuring them that Bucky will be at the wedding and that he's terribly sorry that he couldn’t make it.

Peggy just pats his shoulder and gives him a peck on the cheek, telling him that he looks nice and handsome in his suit.

Steve misses Bucky the entire night, and texts him religiously so he can check in to make sure Bucky’s doing alright and not feeling any urges to go off howling at the moon. Bucky had been completely fine and in his right state of mind last night as they ate dinner at the small Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away from their brownstone that they’d met at after Steve had finished at the precinct for the night. He’d been equally as normal this morning, having years of practice to control himself and not be influenced by the pull of the moon. Steve still worries, though, not wanting him to be alone if he feels like the moon’s affecting him.

Steve had actually even told Bucky that he’d pass on Peggy’s engagement dinner that night, that Bucky’s wellbeing was more important to him than celebrating a friend’s engagement, but Bucky quickly assured him that he was fine, would call if he wasn’t, and that Steve needed to go to support Peggy because he would feel guilty about it later if he’d neglected to attend something that was so important to his friend.

Steve tells Bucky that Sharon’s technically his date for the night, and Bucky’s eyes flash red when Steve tells him, but he’s otherwise okay, but not completely content, with Steve attending the dinner with a date that’s not him. Steve promises to be quick, that he’ll be back within two hours, but he’s left with a multitude of subtle, jealous text messages the entire time he’s gone ( _push her into that one fountain if she touches u_ ). Steve assures him many times through his replies ( _I am not going to do that!_ ) that he has nothing to be worried about and teases Bucky relentlessly about his possessiveness as the night passes along.

The night ends with Steve dropping Sharon off at her condo near Flushing Ave. because it’s late and Sharon took the subway instead of driving and Steve’s gentlemanly enough to offer her a ride home. He makes sure she gets safely inside her building before he pulls away, heading back south towards he and Bucky’s brownstone.

As he walks through their front door a little while later, he’s feeling pretty content and happy with how the case and the night has ended, and it gets even better when Bucky catches sight of him in his suit and decides to literally tear it off of him.

Their activities that night are a little more driven and fast, a contrast to how Bucky normally acts with Steve, but Steve knows that it’s just the full moon making him act this way. It never bothers him, and he’s left feeling tired and satisfied when they’re finished, cuddled up together on the couch.

Steve’s suit lays thrown on the ground, mixed in with Bucky’s work clothes, and he lets out a contented sigh.

Bucky’s got his face in the curve of Steve’s neck, scenting him because he doesn’t like how Steve smells like a mixture of girly perfume and affluent liquor even though Steve hadn’t drank any, and Steve just lies in Bucky’s arms, warm and at ease in his embrace.

It continues like that for the rest of the week. Steve and Sam had solved their case pretty quickly, receiving good praises from Natasha, and the rest of the week is pretty slow. They’ve consulted on a few small cases, but by the time the next week is coming around, it’s still pretty uneventful at work, and Steve finds his mind drifting to Bucky much more during the day when he doesn’t have a case to distract him.

Then, of course, that’s when the weirdness starts.

Steve first starts noticing it a week and a half after the Danvers case. He’s extremely used to living with a werewolf now, so he usually doesn’t give much thought to Bucky’s normal wolfy behaviorisms — eyes, shift, and all.

That is, until, Bucky’s eyes shift red and stay red the entire time he and Steve are fucking one particular morning.

Steve’s got Bucky growling hotly underneath him as he works himself down onto Bucky’s dick, panting loudly into the open space of their bedroom. It’s both of their days off, so they’d decided to sleep in and indulge each other. Steve hadn’t thought anything of it when Bucky’s eyes had shifted immediately when he began to smell Steve’s arousal, but his eyes have been like that ever since, even well after they’ve both calmed down and come down from their endorphin high.

Bucky’s never had his eyes stay that bleeding red this long, and they’re glowing fluorescent well into the night. Steve can tell he’s a little freaked out that they won’t change back, but he otherwise thinks nothing of it. Steve’s pretty worried about him, and he just wants to make sure that Bucky’s alright.

Bucky insists he’s in control of himself and doesn’t even feel like he’s going to shift, so he’s pretty clueless as to why his eyes aren’t changing back.

His eyes are their normal gray when they both wake up in the morning, and once Steve’s assured that Bucky’s alright and feels good, he’s heading into work bright and early that next morning, only mildly worried.

He gets even more worried when the next time they make love that night the very same thing happens again.

But it’s not just the eye shifting that has Steve more than a little concerned. A few days after the last eye incident happens two weeks later, Bucky’s claws start to extend from where he’s got both of his hands gripping Steve’s ass.

He’s up and off Steve immediately.

Steve’s breathing hard, more than a little worked up, and confusedly looks towards the other side of the room where Bucky’s suddenly standing, not sure why Bucky had stopped.

Bucky’s eyes are normal this time, but he’s looking down at his hands, where his sharp and pointy claws have sprouted from his fingernails, and looking decidedly freaked out.

Bucky had refused to touch Steve the rest of the night, even after his claws had retracted back into his fingernails, too scared that he’d accidentally wolf out and hurt Steve.

The thing that’s worrisome to Steve, though, is that these incidents don’t just happen when they're in the throes of pleasure, where Bucky’s worked up enough from the arousal that he accidently shifts in some way like he has been for the past few weeks.

No, they seem to keep happening _all the time_.

Steve will catch Bucky walking around their brownstone now, growling at noises Steve doesn’t have the ability to hear, and just being outright _cranky_.

He’s never grumpy towards Steve, though, and he hasn’t really changed how he acts, but it’s like he just does things now that he has no control over.

It’s like he’s restless. He’s antsy and anxious a lot. He told Steve a few nights ago that it feels like his wolf is unsettled, like he’s so agitated that he feels like he’s ready to crawl right out of his skin, even though he doesn’t have any idea why his wolf is so on edge.

And Bucky’s even _more_ protective over Steve now, which was already pretty prevalent to begin with.

He’ll glare at anyone that looks at Steve too long when they go out to grab dinner at a restaurant or out grocery shopping, and he gets downright growly when Steve walks through their door on his way in from work and doesn’t smell like Bucky.

Things have picked up tremendously at work now too, and it’s like a new case appears out of thin air each time he and Sam close one. They’re both constantly running themselves to the point of exhaustion to keep up with each new homicide, and it seems like every time Steve’s stumbling through their front door after a hard day at the precinct, he’s getting called right back in before he can even take his shoes off. Bucky’s not having _any_ of it, and he glares and scowls as Steve just gives him a soft kiss and heads back out the door before Bucky can try to convince him to stay.

It’s hard leaving Bucky like this when he so blatantly doesn’t want Steve to go to his very dangerous job, brooding and scowling as he stoically watches Steve leave every morning or when he gets called back in, clearly frustrated that Steve’s charging right back into danger. Steve feels his heart sink every time he’s walking out the door, trying to convince himself that Bucky’s not trying to make him feel guilty for doing his job, and reminds himself that Bucky’s just being overprotective like usual. Bucky’s never acted like this before, even though he’s voiced his tendency to worry about Steve when he’s at his job plenty of times. It’s never been like this, though, where Bucky’s doing all but begging Steve not to go.

Steve can tell that Bucky’s trying to fight that protective urge, and knows him well enough to see how Bucky’s desperately trying to show that he doesn’t want to force Steve to do anything he doesn’t want to do. His wolf is highly uncomfortable with the thought of Steve leaving the safety of their brownstone, and the entire ordeal is making him even more growly and phlegmatic.

All of these incidents are enough to make Steve more than a little concerned at Bucky’s behavior, but Bucky insists that he feels fine. When Steve asked him about it, he’d admitted that he feels a little out of control of himself lately, but he promises that he’s alright and chalks the whole thing up to the approaching full moon that’s two weeks away.

Steve’s reluctant to accept that answer, but Bucky just continues to assure him that everything’s fine. Steve just nods and snuggles back into Bucky’s chest after he’s sure he won’t get called in again that night, still worried but willing to tone it down a little.

Things seemed to have calmed slightly a few days later, and Steve and Bucky are walking through the crowded Brooklyn streets one night, both eating their ice cream as they admire the nightlife in front of them, when Steve’s phone rings loudly into the warm air.

Steve was almost positive that he wasn’t going to have to return to the precinct until tomorrow morning, and the sound of his phone immediately makes his stomach coil as he sighs. He and Sam had just finished up yet another case only that morning. They’d finally tracked down the suspect they’d been looking for in the murder of a twelve-year-old boy. Steve hates cases like that. Homicides that involve children always leave him a little raw.

He was really hoping he’d get a break for the night and be able to finally spend some time with Bucky. They haven’t really been able to see each other for the past few days, not with Steve and Sam working so hard to find that murderer, and Bucky could immediately tell that Steve was feeling a little abraded and needed to take his mind off of everything for a while. When he’d suggested that they should walk down the street and get some ice cream, Steve had jumped at the prospect of being able to finally spend time with his boyfriend while simultaneously getting himself to relax after solving such a gruesome case. He was really looking forward to spending the rest of the night in Bucky’s arms.

Bucky flinches at the sound of Steve’s phone, having been a lot more sensitive to sound for the past few weeks, and takes a little step away so Steve can answer the call.

Steve’s only been home from work for two hours, and he grimaces when he checks the caller I.D. and sees Sam’s contact picture. It’s likely that Sam’s calling him for a work related issue, but Sam also just calls sometimes to make last minute plans, or even just to check-in sometimes, so this could be a personal call instead of a professional one.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve answers loudly over the noises around him.

“Hey, man, what are you doing right now?” Sam’s voice sounds over the speaker, and Steve sighs.

“Bucky and I just went and got us some ice cream. Why?”

Steve can hear Sam’s indignation even before he opens his mouth. “Without me? What the _fuck,_ man.”

Steve can’t help but chuckle and roll his eyes. “Why are you calling me, Sam?”

“Natasha’s calling us out to a homicide near Prospect Park. You and I are the closest ones to it,” Sam says, and Steve bites back another sigh, twirling his cup and watching the half melted ice cream swirl at the bottom.

“Alright. You need me to pick you up?” Steve asks, biting the inside of his cheek as dread bubbles in his chest. He was _really_ looking forward to spending the rest of his night with Bucky.

“Yeah. I’m at home, though, so we can just head straight there after you come get me,” Sam responds, and Steve can tell he’s just as reluctant to get drawn back into work as Steve is, especially when they were supposed to be done for the night.

“Okay. I’ll be at yours in fifteen,” Steve tells him, chucking his ice cream cup into a nearby garbage bin. He’s still got his gun and his badge on him, feels more comfortable walking the dark streets with it even though he’s got a two hundred plus pound Alpha werewolf bodyguard at his side, so he can leave straight from the parking lot of their brownstone instead of walking up all the steps to get to he and Bucky’s apartment on the fourth floor.

“See you then, partner,” Sam responds, before he hangs up.

Bucky’s looking down at his ice cream with a scowl when Steve pockets the phone, silent and menacing. Steve immediately gets what Bucky’s not telling him and gives him an apologetic look.

“I know, Buck. I don’t want to go in, either,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky’s free hand and lacing their fingers together. Bucky’s hand feels overly warm against his, and the heat of his palm makes Steve’s own tingle.

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look, looking up from the cup. “Natasha calls you and Sam in all the time. She needs to understand you both have lives outside of the precinct.”

Steve nods. “I know, baby. It’s because Sam and I are the best at what we do.”

Bucky throws his ice cream away then, sticking the hand that’s not holding Steve’s into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Yeah, I know. You’re damn good at your job.” He huffs, but aims a small, private smile at Steve, and Steve gives him a wide grin back, happy that Bucky’s not going to fight him on this. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to walk away from Bucky if Bucky asked him to stay.

“I’ll call you to let you know when I’ll be back, okay?” Steve says as they reach the entrance to their brownstone, but Bucky just continues to walk past it and out towards the street where Steve’s Camaro and his bike are parked.

Bucky reaches into Steve’s jacket pocket and grabs his keyring that has the key to their apartment and his car on it, unlocking the car and opening the door for Steve.

He hands the keys back before looping his arms around Steve’s waist, looking into Steve’s eyes sternly. “Please be safe,” he says after a moment, tightening his arms.

“Always am, Buck,” Steve replies, smiling as Bucky pulls their mouths together, feeling the electricity from their kiss light up his insides.

Bucky’s reluctant to let him go, but he steps back a couple minutes later, smiling at his boyfriend and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “Call me and keep me updated, okay?”

Steve knows Bucky really means _Call me and let me know you’re safe_ , but he just nods, undeterred by Bucky’s overprotectiveness.

“I will, baby,” Steve replies, stepping into the car and starting it, then rolling down the window so he can lean out of it and give Bucky another kiss. “Get some sleep, grumpy,” he tells Bucky when he pulls back a minute later. He knows it’s likely with the way Bucky’s been acting this past month that Bucky’s probably going to stay up and wait for him to get in so he can know for himself that Steve’s safe and whole, but the thought of him not sleeping makes Steve feel disconcerted.

“Be safe, punk,” Bucky echoes his earlier words, moving his hand to ruffle Steve’s hair, before he whispers against his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers back, giving him one last kiss before Bucky’s pulling back, jaw clenched with displeasure and a brooding frown on his lips.

Bucky makes his way back across the street towards the entrance of their brownstone, unlocking the door and then turning back around to wave at Steve.

Steve waves back, smiling softly, before he pulls away from the curb and begins the drive towards Sam’s apartment, feeling Bucky’s eyes trail after him until he disappears from sight.

—

When Steve and Sam pull up to the crime scene twenty minutes later, they’re pulling into a heavily wooded area that’s pitch black. Steve follows the lights of police cruises around a bend, where a small, rustic wooden cabin greets them.

Steve’s surprised to see Natasha herself outside the house when he and Sam step out of the car. He’d assumed that when she’d called them out here, she wasn’t actually going to be there with them. He closes his car door, locking it, and starts walking towards where she’s standing.

“Lieutenant,” Steve acknowledges when he and Sam get close enough, accepting the pair of blue latex gloves she hands to him and then Sam.

“What have we got?” Sam asks, taking the gloves and snapping them on.

“Listen, I know you guys are tired, and I realize that I've been working you really hard lately. It's been pretty busy these past few weeks, and I know we're all exhausted. Let's just get this one over with, okay?" Natasha says, and Sam and Steve nod at her, sharing looks of surprised confusion. Natasha gives them both a decisive nod, and her face tightens slightly, and she crosses her arms, motioning with her head towards the cabin. "The neighbor called in shots fired. Unis found the door ajar. No sign of forced entry,” she tells them, business-like, as she turns around and starts to walk up the stone steps of the cabin.

Steve and Sam glance at each other before following her, entering the cabin. Steve immediately takes note of how immaculately clean and spacious the cabin is as Natasha leads them further into what could be a living room. A huge flat screen T.V. is mounted against a stone wall, and the worn brown leather sofa a few feet away from it tells Steve that whoever lives in this cabin spends the majority of their time there.

On the tables next to the sofa, two deer antler lamps emit a soft light into the rest of the room, but all three of them still need to take their flashlights out so they can properly see.

There aren’t any family photos on any of the tables or mantles. There’s a Persian rug lying innocuously underneath the coffee table, and the red hues of the tapestry are the only type of color in the living room that Steve can see when he glances around the room again.

“The place belongs to Dr. Bruce Banner. Marines Major, military lifer,” Natasha continues, shining her flashlight towards an open plan kitchen. “He retired out here ten years ago.”

“Guy was definitely married to the mission,” Sam says, swinging his flashlight around the room. “This cabin definitely doesn’t have a woman’s touch.”

“No photos, no family,” Steve adds, following closely behind and shining his light near the fireplace. “Talk about a lonely lifestyle.”

The kitchen they enter is enormous. There's a huge wooden island with wooden bar stools resting underneath it, and the cabinets and the appliances look a little dated, minus the new refrigerator buzzing in the corner with stripes of blood spatter on it.

A quick glance at the fridge allows Steve to see the bullet holes embedded inside, and another cursory sweep of his flashlight reveals a massive blood pool on a huge area rug covering the stone finishings of the floor, but there aren’t any actual _bodies_ anywhere.

“Okay, I give up, Nat. Where’s the body?” Steve asks, turning towards her.

“There’s none to speak of,” she says, huffing. “Unis found blood and evidence of those shots fired.”

She shines her light over several bullets lying next to the blood pool on the rug, and Steve bends down to look at them.

He moves his flashlight down to see what caliber the bullets are and brings them up to his face for a closer look. He doesn’t recognize the bullets, so he turns towards Sam and shows it to him, asking confusedly, “Do you recognize this caliber?”

Sam takes it and shines his own flashlight on it. He studies it for a second before he shakes his head, frowning. “Five point seven by twenty-eight? I’ve never seen this before.”

He hands the bullet back to Steve, and Steve says, “Yeah, neither have I.” He bends back down to put the bullet back on the floor, sighing, before shining his flashlight over the rug again. “These casings have rolled all over the floor. It’s hard to pinpoint where the shooter was standing.”

Sam walks towards the fridge, shining his light on the bullet holes. “Easy to place these shots, though.”

“Okay, so, our guy was probably standing here and got shot, right?” Steve asks, moving to stand directly in front of the fridge. Sam steps to the side, watching. Natasha moves to the other side of the island, shining her flashlight over the blood pool. Steve shines his own flashlight on the surrounding area of the refrigerator, right over the blood spatter. “The spatter here starts to thin out towards the left.” He moves a little, accidentally stepping on glass. He lifts his foot up to reveal a broken beer bottle. “Banner probably dropped his beer after he was shot, and then he collapses in this direction.” Steve shines his light on the blood pool. “And then. . .”

“Nothing,” Natasha fills in. “No body, no suspect, and no murder weapon. We’ve got our work cut out for us, gentlemen.”

Sam walks towards a large wooden desk adjacent to the area rug, shining his light on the cobblestone flooring, and says, “I’ve got furniture moving disks. Looks like there’s also some scuffing along the floor. It seems repetitive.”

“Let’s move it,” Natasha says. Steve and Sam both take opposite sides of the desk.

They easily push it in the direction of the scuff marks, and both detectives move to shine their lights at what’s revealed.

“Secret room,” Sam says, moving to his hip and unholstering his gun. “Cool.”

Steve and Natasha both follow suit, each unholstering their weapons and placing their flashlights in their opposite hands so they can position their guns defensively in front of themselves. If none of the other unis knew about this secret room, it’s possible someone could be hiding behind the door.

Natasha takes the lead, moving with her back to the wall and entering the room, sweeping her gun and flashlight around the small alcove to reveal a set of stairs.

They descend them, guns at the ready, and stand at the bottom of the steps in shock.

There, on the opposite side of the stairs, hung up as if they were on display, are at least one hundred different heavy duty artillery guns.

“Holy shit,” Sam says, shining his flashlight over the guns, holstering his own gun.

The rest of the space around them is just as meticulous and minimalistic as the house upstairs. Each desk surrounding the room is organized and neat, and each tool on the countertops is lined up and in place. There’s two bookshelves on opposite sides of the wall of guns, and when Steve shines his light over them, he sees that the majority of them look like manuals and how-to guides.

Steve and Natasha share matching looks of shock as they all draw their attention back to the gun wall, and Natasha runs her flashlight over the adjacent walls, over the meticulously organized files on top of the desks, and says smoothly, “No body, no suspects, but it you’re in the market for a murder weapon. . .take your pick.”

“Yeah, we’re definitely gonna be here a while,” Sam says, shining his flashlight over the room again.

“Like I said, boys,” Natasha sighs, turning to look at both of them. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Steve just barely bites back a groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the real case begins.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! I'm back again with chapter 4. This is slightly longer, but we had a shorter chapter last time, so here's a longer one! Thank you to everyone who continues to read, comment, and give me kudos! You guys are seriously amazing!
> 
> My work is also not beta'd, so I apologize if there are errors in this chapter! I've been trying to catch those.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: There are some mentions of possible Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in this chapter. It's a very surface level mention, but in the next chapter, it goes more in depth. 
> 
> See you all in a few days! Enjoy!

_“Light is to darkness what love is to fear; in the presence of one the other disappears.” — Marianne Williamson_

“I just finished talking to the neighbors,” Sam says, hours later as he hands Steve a hot cup of coffee. “They all said the same thing.”

“Yeah, let me guess,” Steve replies, accepting the coffee with a thankful grin. “The guy kept to himself?”

“By all accounts, the man was a hermit,” Sam nods, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Anybody float any theories on why someone would want to hurt him?”

“Nope,” Sam says, smacking his lips. “Apparently he had no friends and no enemies. But one of the neighbors called him, and I quote, ‘a peaceful soul’.”

“Yeah, I’m betting they hadn’t seen that gun room,” Steve sighs. “Well, while you were gone, CSUs found a secondary scene.”

“Where?” Sam asks, eyes snapping up to Steve’s.

“Just beside the house,” Steve answers, standing up from where he’d been leaning against the driver’s side of the Camaro.

He’s just gotten off of the phone with Bucky, updating him yet again on when he thinks he might be home. He and Sam have been out at the Banner cabin all night, and it’s only around nine o’clock in the morning. They’ve been working with the techies to help bag the bullets and start the meticulous process of combing through all of those books in Bruce’s gun room, but even Steve has to admit that he has no idea why or how this guy was killed, let alone with _what_.

Bucky’s just waking up to start his shift down at his garage, and Steve’s already trying to think of ways to make it so that Bucky’s not angry when Steve sees him again. Bucky’s not happy that Steve wasn’t able to come home last night, especially when Steve’s been running himself ragged for weeks now. Bucky knows how important Steve’s job is, and he knows how much Steve loves what he’s doing, but Steve doesn’t need for Bucky to explain it to him for him to understand that Bucky hates it when Steve’s job becomes so demanding like this. It’s been a stressful month so far, and Steve’s _exhausted_. He’s been on his feet for _hours_ trying to delve into Bruce Banner’s life. And he’d already worked a rough shift yesterday even before he and Sam were called to the cabin. All he wants to do is sleep.

Steve shakes his head quickly, trying to dispel some of the tiredness that suddenly builds behind his eyes, and starts to lead Sam around the back of the cabin, near an open garage, where yellow crime scene tape ropes off a dark red blood pool in the dirt.

“What do you think happened?” Steve asks, tilting his head and analyzing a few of the evidence markers. There’s about a hundred or so empty cartridge casings all over the ground. Steve may be incredibly tired, but he’s awake and alert enough to understand that there aren’t any bullets around the blood pool, and he also knows that there definitely should be.

Sam walks around the tape, leaning down so he can see more clearly, and says, “There’s a lot of cartridge casings. But where are all the bullets?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Steve nods, taking another sip of his coffee. “They’re probably in the ground, right? By way of a body?”

“It looks like there’s human flesh jammed into the ground,” Sam says, grimacing. “I mean, I think I see bone fragments, man. Maybe even intestinal tissue.”

“And the margins aren’t inflamed on the tissue,” a voice says behind them. Steve looks up to see Sharon walking towards them, perfectly prim and proper despite the early hour. “The capillaries are withdrawn. Which means that this victim’s heart stopped beating before all this damage was done.”

“Sharon, lovely to see you, as always,” Sam says sarcastically, but he grins at her. “Ok, science nerd. Why would you shoot a dead man a hundred times?”

“Not my area, Sam,” Sharon chuckles at him, but takes out a tiny evidence bag and throws it towards Steve, who catches it one-handed. “But maybe this has something to do with it?”

Steve holds up the evidence bag, squinting in the light to peek into it, and sees a bloody ring with plastic embedded into it. “This look like a grommet or something to you?”

He throws it at Sam, who holds it up and eyes the little ring, nodding. “Maybe from a shower curtain?”

“CSUs noted a shower curtain had been ripped off from the rod in the downstairs bathroom,” Steve says, looking at Sam, taking another drink of his coffee. “Could have been used to wrap up the body.”

“One of the techies said to give you this, too,” Sharon says, pulling out a green pill bottle from her coat pocket and tossing it to Steve again.

Steve looks at it, shaking the bottle, but the language on the label isn’t in English. “Any idea what this says?”

He throws it to Sam, who catches it and opens the bottle, looking at the beige capsules inside.

“Techie said it’s most likely in Farsi,” Sharon answers.

“ _Farsi?_ So, the guy’s ex-military, a loner, and got a room full of guns. And, now, he’s got medication from the Middle East. Who the hell was this guy?” Sam asks, glancing at Steve.

“No idea,” Steve replies, tilting his head back so he can finish off the rest of his coffee. He sighs as he swallows, then tilts his head back down.

Sharon’s looking at him when he removes the cup from his mouth, her eyes tracking over his throat. Steve looks back at her, raising his eyebrows in question. When she notices that he’s looking at her, her face turns a bright red, and she clears her throat quickly, glancing away towards Sam.

“His medical records show that he’s got a lifelong condition of OCD,” Sharon says after she clears her throat again, her eyes nervously darting to Steve. "Without a body, though, I can’t give you much more than that.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, nodding as he looks at Sam. “Maybe this guy was a scientist. Or, at the very least, a researcher. CSUs found a bunch of books down in the gun room, all ranging from _Journal of Ballistics, Hatcher’s Notebook,_ and _Firearm’s Assembly Part Three_. I mean, he even had a classical mechanics text.”

“So, he’s a nerdy gun nut?” Sam asks, confused.

“I don’t know, Sam, but I’m really thinking that he might be a scientist. We both saw how meticulous his workspace was. You could eat off that thing. Everything was exactly in its place. I mean, yeah, he had OCD, right? But only someone researching a certain topic would have _that_ many books on it.”

“And all his guns were organized by theater of conflict,” Sam says, agreeing. “He had World War II Europe ranging from one wall, all the way to the surge in Afghanistan.”

“Exactly,” Steve says. “Maybe the scientist was killed by one of his own guns.”

“We won’t know that until the ballistics report comes back,” Sam says. “But I like where we’re going with this, man.”

Sam fist bumps him, and both Steve and Sharon laugh.

Natasha sends them back to the precinct after that, wanting them to start digging through Dr. Banner’s finances. After Steve has called Bucky again and told him that he’s back at the precinct, Sam walks up to him at his desk, irritation written all over his face.

“What’s up, Sam?” Steve asks, pocketing his phone and resting his forearms against his desk.

Sam sighs, opening the file in his hands. “Ballistics came back on all the guns. None of the calibers match the ones that killed our vic, but the bullets in the kitchen and the bullets outside of the cabin match.”

“No hits in IBIS?” Steve asks.

Sam shakes his head.

“Damn,” Steve groans, feeling annoyance bubble in his chest.

“And it gets worse,” Sam continues, flipping through the pages of the file. “The caliber of those bullets is rare. You can’t even buy rounds like these in the States. And they’ve never even been used in a crime in the United States before.”

“Well, someone brought them into New York. Seven of them were put into our victim, and even more went into him outside the cabin,” Steve says, running his fingers over his eyes. Exhaustion rears steadfast in his veins, and all he wants to do now is crawl into bed with Bucky and sleep for a few days.

“CSUs came back with more news, though,” Sam says, closing the file and sitting down onto Steve’s desk. “They used laser trajectories to map the path the bullets took. Looks like our killer was sitting at the counter when the victim was shot.”

“We assumed that the killer surprised him,” Steve says, a little confused. “But he welcomed the killer into his home."

“Techies also found evidence that the two shared a beer together,” Sam nods.

“So, Bruce knew him,” Steve surmises.

“Looks that way,” Sam says, moving so he can sit down into his own desk chair with a huff.

“Well, our vic’s paper trail is pretty straightforward. He’s got a PhD in artillery mechanics, so he _is_ a scientist. Currently unemployed. He bought his cabin in 2010 and has lived there peacefully ever since,” Steve tells him, opening the victim file and pulling up the expense records on his computer. “Never married, never arrested,” Steve continues. “And he was never out of the country except for Gulf War I.”

“I think you’re wrong on that, actually,” Sam says, motioning for Steve to give him the file he dropped on his desk.

Steve gives it to him, quirking an eyebrow. “How am I wrong?”

“Sharon called and told me she ran the Farsi medication. Only Bruce’s prints were on the bottle and the label, but the pills inside were hexadecylphosphocholine, which is the drug of choice for the treatment of the Kala Azar parasite.”

“How did you even just pronounce that name?” Steve asks him, laughing as he swipes the file out of Sam’s hand. “Sharon’s going to be so proud when she hears this. And she called _you_? I thought she only ever called me?” he adds teasingly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Steve,” Sam says, smirking. “You’re still her favorite. She only called me after she couldn’t get a hold of you.”

Steve blinks for a second, confused, but then he’s nodding in understanding. “I was on the phone with Bucky,” he tells Sam, who just waggles his eyebrows. Steve moves to lightly punch him in the arm, but Sam dodges him before his hand can make contact. “So, what’s so special about this Kala Azar parasite?”

Sam laughs at him, leaning back in his chair. “That particular bug, and the medication to get rid of it, resides exclusively in the Middle East, according to your lady friend.”

Steve rolls his eyes, skimming over the file. “How do you even get a Middle Eastern parasite into Prospect Park?”

“You don’t,” Sam replies. “These two evidence trails have contradicted themselves. Which brings us back to you being wrong.”

“Why am I the one who’s wrong?” Steve scoffs at him.

“Because I’m always right,” Sam shrugs, grinning smugly.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve mutters. “Well, techies found hair in the shower drain, which your best pal, Sharon, is running now. Let’s let it decide who’s right.”

Sam throws a pen at his head, but Steve ducks and misses it, laughing.

—

When he’s finally able to get home that night at around eleven, Steve’s practically dead on his feet, collapsing straight into the couch with a groan. He’s been awake and on his feet for the better part of forty hours, and his entire body feels heavy with exhaustion.

All he wants to do is crawl into bed, wrap around his boyfriend, and sleep for the next _week_.

Steve can hear Bucky moving around in their apartment, and the door to the room they’ve designated their home gym opens with a soft creak, light footsteps sound on the carpet and then clack onto the wooden flooring, and then his boyfriend’s shirtless and sweaty torso comes into his line of view.

Steve brings his head up from where he’d been laying it flat on the couch and gives Bucky a sleepy smile, saying tiredly yet fondly, “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky bends down over the back of the couch and places a soft kiss on his forehead, breathing heavily. “Hey, Stevie.”

Steve feels himself grow concerned at the sound of exertion in Bucky’s voice. He can tell from the way Bucky’s panting a little and the slight sheen of sweat he’s got working over his chest that Bucky had been in the middle of a grueling workout for at least a couple of hours to get him to look this sweaty and flushed.

He’d called Bucky just half an hour ago to tell him that he was finally on his way home, and Bucky had sounded completely fine and happy to hear that Steve was finally going to be able to relax for the night. Steve hadn’t heard any signs of exertion in his voice on the phone, but he doesn’t know how he missed it when Bucky literally sounds _this_ out of breath as he continues to pant.

Bucky can run for miles without breaking a sweat, and it’s no different when he isolates himself in their home gym to kill hours at a time just continually sparring with a punching bag, doing hundreds of sets of sit-ups and leg workouts, or doing even _more_ chin ups on the industrial strength pull-up bar he’d installed back when they’d first moved into their brownstone.

Which means that Bucky is incredibly fucking _built,_ much to Steve’s continuous appreciation yet immense horror.

He doesn’t like it when Bucky overworks himself like this.

“God, Steve, you look exhausted. How bad was it?” Bucky asks him genuinely even as he still breathes heavily.

“I’m alright, Buck. Just really tired. You get in a good workout back there?” Steve asks, trying to steer the conversation back on Bucky as he reaches up and runs his fingers over the inside of Bucky’s right wrist. Bucky’s pulse is racing underneath his fingertips, and Steve feels himself frown before he even realizes he’s doing it.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, nodding. “Wasn’t done yet, but I heard you come in downstairs and wanted to see you.”

Steve kisses the inside of Bucky’s wrist. He mumbles against Bucky’s skin, “How long were you back there?”

Bucky tenses slightly at the question, exhaling a breath deeply from his nostrils. He knows where this is going, but he only hesitates a couple of seconds — _debating whether to lie or not_ , Steve thinks — before he finally answers, “Six hours.”

“ _Six hours?_ ” Steve sighs lightly, sitting up more to meet Bucky’s gaze. “Bucky, baby, that’s not safe. That’s how you overexert yourself, sweetheart.”

“I’m a werewolf, Steve. I don’t get overexerted,” Bucky scoffs softly at him, shaking his head.

“Bucky, we’ve talked about this,” Steve reminds him, sitting up completely on the couch. “You promised that you wouldn’t overwork yourself. You could get dehydrated and pass out and hurt yourself, Bucky! And I wouldn’t have been here to help you!”

“I wouldn’t need your help, Steve. I don’t get _dehydrated_ , you know that,” Bucky says, and Steve sees him roll his eyes.

“You promised me you wouldn’t go as hard anymore because you know I worry about you, Buck, werewolf or not. You’re still a person, and I don’t care that you’re a supernatural being. You still have breaking points, Bucky, and when you continue to push yourself like this — ” Steve starts, moving to his feet to gently explain to Bucky why he’s being a little reckless, but Bucky cuts him off sharply.

“I don’t need you to scold me,” Bucky _growls_ , “or to treat me like I’ve gone and broken this big promise to you because I _haven't_ , Steve. I’m not your project, and I’m sure as _fuck_ not one of your suspects that you can interrogate. I can handle myself. I know when it’s too much.”

Steve’s jaw hardens. “I’m just trying to explain to you why I’m worried about you, Bucky. Because I love you and I care about you, not because I’m trying to _scold_ you.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Steve,” Bucky replies, fists tightening at his sides.

“ _I’m_ being ridiculous? Great,” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m not the one who’s going to get myself injured.”

Bucky rounds back on Steve, angry. “What the _fuck_ is your deal? I told you I can take care of myself.”

“What’s _my_ deal?” Steve repeats, baffled. “Bucky, it’s literally like you’re trying to start a fight with me for no reason! You’ve been testy for a month now and acting strange. And now you’re getting mad at me because I’m trying to have an adult conversation with you about something I’m worried about and you’re shrugging me off!”

Bucky snarls. “You think I wanted to start a fight? I haven’t seen you for nearly _two days_ , Steve. I’ve barely seen you this entire _week_. You think I _really_ want to start a fight with you right now? I have told you _multiple times_ that I’m _fine_ , that everything’s okay with me and that you have _nothing_ to worry about. How is this _my_ fault? You’re the one who won’t leave well enough alone.”

“Because I’m fucking _worried_ about you!” Steve shouts. “You’re not _listening to me_ , Bucky. You’re not acting like yourself. I know you like to work out, but you can’t overwork yourself like this! I’m not telling you to stop working out, Buck. I just think you need to take it a little easier. At least when I’m not here. You may be an Alpha werewolf, Bucky, but even _you_ have to have a breaking point."

Bucky’s breathing picks up then, and his eyebrows scrunch together in anger. Steve can see he’s starting to lose it, and then he says intimidatingly, “I’m fine. I know my limits. Stop trying to order me into doing what you think is right, because you’re wrong.”

Steve stares at him in shock. After what they’ve both said tonight, how the fuck did Bucky think he was trying to _order_ him? Bucky’s always told him that stuff like this doesn’t affect him, that just because he’s the Alpha doesn’t mean that he’s above Steve, that they’re not anything but equals, but clearly this weirdness that’s been brewing inside him for a month is having a bigger effect on him than Steve realized.

Steve doesn’t even know how to respond to that. He hesitates before saying, “I’m not trying to tell you to do anything. I just want you to understand that what you’re doing is dangerous. I know you’ve been having issues with your control, Buck. I’ve seen you struggling. Is that what this is?”

Bucky’s gaze whips to Steve’s, and Steve’s heart skips a beat when he sees that Bucky’s eyes are Alpha red.

In all of their arguments, no matter who starts them, Bucky has never once shifted during them. He normally has impeccable control over himself, and he’s told Steve multiple times that he tries not to get worked up during their arguments because shifting when he’s angry is a really _bad thing_ , almost as bad as shifting when he’s upset.

Steve’s heart races in his chest, and he takes a step back when Bucky takes one forward.

“I don’t need you to worry about me, Steve. I’m in control. I’m the _Alpha_. I don’t take orders from anyone. Not even you.” 

Steve’s heart drops at Bucky’s menacing voice and the glare on his face. He’s so dumbfounded that he takes a minute to formulate what he should say back, trying desperately not to sound and feel hurt and angry by Bucky’s words, but his throat feels tight, and no words come to him.

He can see that Bucky’s beginning to shift more into his anger, and claws sprout slowly from his fingernails, but Bucky looks just as startled as Steve feels when he realizes he’s wolfing out, like he hadn't even felt his eyes changing.

Steve’s never been scared of Bucky, and he’s not scared of him now. This entire situation, though, is enough to make his insides uneasy and his heart sink with dread.

“I’m too tired to argue with you, Bucky,” Steve says, backing up slowly to the side table by their front door, where his keys are, moving tediously so that he doesn’t startle Bucky.

Steve knows that Bucky would never hurt him, but he’s always cautious when Bucky shifts. If trying to calm Bucky down and reassuring him isn’t going to work, the best thing to get him to relax and shift back is to leave him alone so he can calm down on his own.

“Wait,” Bucky says suddenly, digging his claws into his palms when he smells the bitterness of sage and smoke in the air, like the scent of Steve’s anger and dismay has pulled him right out of his shift. “Where are you going?”

Bucky’s trying to ground himself, Steve realizes, by bringing a shock to his system, like digging his claws into his skin, so that it forces him back in the moment before he completely wolfs out.

Steve’s heart clenches.

He takes a deep breath, grabbing his set of keys, and places his right hand on the door, not turning his back to Bucky. He runs the hand holding his keys through his hair, trying to make himself seem calm and collected even though he’s five seconds away from just making a break for their bedroom and shutting Bucky out for the night.

He’s exhausted, the ache of fatigue heavy in his bones, and all he wants to do is sleep. No matter how bad he just wants to curl up into their bed and pass out for a couple of hours, he knows Bucky would probably break their bedroom door down if Steve refused to let him in for the night, just to calm his wolf down because it drives his wolf insane to think that Steve’s mad at him. Had this outright stupid fight happened a month ago, Bucky would have respected Steve’s choice to put space in between them, no matter how crazy it would make his wolf, and probably would have camped out outside their door, waiting to bombard Steve with apologies the second Steve felt guilty enough to let him back in.

Bucky’s not in control of himself right now, though, and the thought of Bucky hurting himself even more to get himself to stop shifting makes Steve’s insides twist up painfully. He knows Bucky needs to be alone right now before he either pushes himself further into his shift because of his anger, or hurts himself even worse.

Steve turns towards Bucky, not completely looking at him as he responds, “Probably to Sam’s. I’ll crash on his couch tonight and go into work in the morning.”

“No, Steve, _wait._ I didn't mean to — ” Bucky starts, reaching a clawed hand out like he’s going to grab Steve’s arm, probably just to get him to stay, but Steve flinches away from him harshly.

Bucky probably didn’t even realize that his claws were still out, but the look on his face when Steve flinches away from his touch has Steve’s heart sinking in his chest.

“Steve — ” Bucky says, voice heavy with emotion as his eyes widen in despair, like watching Steve recoil from his touch like that, just to avoid his hand, is the most devastating thing he’s ever seen.

Steve can see loud and clear the pain shining through Bucky’s fluorescent red eyes. It pains him that Steve would distance them like that, that he’d flinch away from Bucky’s touch like he’s scared of what Bucky might do to him.

It makes Steve’s lungs constrict tightly in his chest.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” and that’s such a lie, _fuck_ , Bucky will be able to hear the blip in his racing heart, “I have work in the morning and I haven't slept in almost two days. I’m going to let you calm down. And then we’ll talk.” A pause and a fiddle with his key ring. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I love you.”

“Steve — ” Bucky tries again, his voice breaking. He’s still got that look on his face, brokenhearted and pained, and his claws haven’t retracted back into his fingernails.

Steve just gives him a sad smile, opens the door, and closes it softly behind himself.

He doesn’t make it to Sam’s that night.

Steve doesn’t know if he’d planned on even driving the short drive over to Sam’s apartment when he’d left, too distracted by the thought of getting Bucky to calm down. He gets down the stairs and out the door of their building, crosses the street and unlocks the Camaro before stepping into the driver’s seat, and just sits there, keys in his hand but doesn’t start the ignition.

Steve sighs into the empty interior of the car. His head is beginning to pound in that telltale start of a deep headache, his body aches with fatigue, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

Steve’s stomach is in knots, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

They’ve had worse fights than this.

The first time they fought was way back before they’d even started a relationship together, and way back before Bucky had even worked up the courage to ask Steve out on a date. Steve barely remembers that argument, but he knows that it was probably something to do with Bucky trying to warn Steve off of him, even though they both knew that Steve wasn’t going to back off.

There have been more fights to follow, too, and sometimes, they’re _really_ bad, but more often than not, each of their arguments isn’t anything more than a simple misunderstanding or a disagreement.

This fight, though, has Steve feeling like Bucky’s ripped his heart out of his chest.

He’s not necessarily _mad_ at Bucky. Bucky’s the kind of person who Steve can’t stay mad at long because he’ll try his best to get Steve smiling and laughing until Steve forgets why he was mad in the first place. Bucky’s a good guy, and an even better boyfriend.

He’s a little irritated that Bucky had turned Steve’s concerns into nothing and didn’t seem to care at all about what Steve had to say.

Above all, though, Steve’s _upset_. Bucky hadn’t even acknowledged that Steve had a valid reason for worrying about him. As much as Bucky worries about Steve, Steve worries just as much about _him._

They never fight like this. Every argument they’ve ever had has always been resolved by just talking to each other. Steve’s not naïve enough to believe that their relationship doesn’t go through the usual bumps and hiccups that every couple goes through, but he knows that what he and Bucky have is healthy. They talk to each other extensively about their problems, especially if those problems involve each other. They’ve always been communicative with each other. Bucky gets angry at him, sure, but he’s _never_ snapped like that before. He’s never gotten so defensive that he didn’t at least listen to what Steve had to say and lashed out at him instead.

And Steve’s actually _really_ upset that Bucky started shifting on him. Bucky wolfing out during their argument is nothing short of alarming. Bucky _never_ loses control like that. Steve’s worried the most about Bucky’s seemingly lack of control over himself, and even more worried about Bucky’s safety and ability to keep himself under wraps.

Steve’s been concerned about Bucky’s increasingly odd behavior for an entire month now, and he just wants to understand why Bucky’s acting like this even though he knows it’s most likely not Bucky’s fault.

And he’s just _really_ tired. This case he and Sam are on has the workings of being tough and long written all over it, and Steve just wants to sleep, to be able to calm himself down and not worry about anything for a few hours.

He’s not sure how long he just sits there, staring out of the Camaro’s windshield. The air around him is dark and quiet, and the streetlamp above Steve’s head shines dimly as he works to steady his breathing. He doesn’t think he’s in danger of crying. In all honesty, Steve thinks he might be too exhausted to cry.

He doesn’t realize that almost an hour has passed until his phone buzzes. He sighs into the quiet air of his car, rifling through his jacket pocket to dig out his cell phone, briefly glancing at the screen. All he sees for a second is a notification alerting him that he’s got an email in his inbox, and he quickly swipes it away. Once he sees that it’s almost midnight, he feels his eyes bug out of his head slightly. He’s mildly surprised that Bucky hasn’t called him or come down to check on him yet. Bucky gets anxious when he thinks Steve’s upset with him, and Steve’s actually more than a little shocked that he hasn’t come down here yet. He has to know by now that Steve didn’t actually leave.

Even if he’s not in control of himself right now, at least Bucky’s actually being mature and giving Steve space, even though Steve hates this distance between them.

Steve sighs again into the silence. He’s calling Sam a moment later, needing to hear someone’s voice before he gets even more upset.

Sam picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, man.”

“Hey, Sam. Are you busy right now?” Steve asks, hand coming to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“No, I can talk. What’s up?”

“Are you at home?” Steve feels the need to ask, even if he doesn’t plan on actually driving over to Sam’s apartment. He still hasn’t decided if he’s going to leave yet. The last thing he wants to do is have Sam racing back from somewhere if he’s not home to meet Steve at his place just because he thinks Steve’s in distress, though.

“No, actually. I’m at Natasha’s,” Sam replies, and Steve can hear the sound of a door closing in the background.

“Natasha, like our boss? That Natasha?” Steve asks in slight shock, bringing his hand down from his face to pull at a loose thread on the wheel of the Camaro.

“Yes, that Natasha, who is also our best friend,” Sam chuckles at him.

“Why are you at her place? It’s like midnight, Sam. She hangs with us all the time, but never at her own house,” he pauses, thinking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to her house before.” He stops talking for a second, before he’s immediately backtracking. “Oh my, God, _sorry_. That totally sounded nosy, _jeez_. Sorry, man. It’s none of my business. What you get up to in your spare time is totally — ”

“Steve,” Sam cuts him off, chuckling again. “Stop rambling. You’re fine, buddy. You alright? Why are you calling me? Is everything okay?”

Steve’s silent for a second, a tad mortified as he thinks. He knows that he’s still readily in the range of Bucky’s ability to hear him clearly even at four stories down from where he is on the street. He glances up at a window he knows looks into one of their spare guest bedrooms, but there's no light illuminating from it.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself as he bites the inside of his cheek. “Bucky and I had a fight.”

Sam inhales in sympathy. “Aw, man. What happened?”

Steve sighs, but proceeds to tell him, “You know how he works out all the time, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, and Steve knows that Sam’s nodding his head even though he can’t see him. “Bucky’s built like a brick shithouse, man.”

Steve makes an affirmative noise, eyes flicking to their building again. He doesn’t want Bucky to hear him telling Sam about their fight and get angry again, but he continues, “He’s been working out a lot lately. For the past month, he’s been going through these times where he’ll work out for hours, Sam. Like, for five, six, or seven hours straight.”

“Damn,” Sam replies. “I don’t think that’s very safe for him. I mean, I knows he’s. . .you know, different,” and Steve rolls his eyes at that, because he appreciates Sam not saying the word over the phone, but _different_ isn’t the word to encompass all of what Bucky is, “but he needs to take it easy sometimes, right? Can’t be good to keep pushing himself like that.”

“That’s what I told him,” Steve says, “but he told me he’s fine and that he can take care of himself. He’s been acting a little strangely for the past month, and when I asked him about it, things got a little out of hand. Then we got into it, and we both said some things we probably shouldn’t have said.”

“It got hot and heavy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, sighing. “And we worked our asses off on this case today, and you and I both haven't slept for forty hours. I just wanted to come home and sleep before we have to get up early again, and now Bucky and I are fighting and I just feel awful, Sam. I hate it when he’s mad at me."

Sam hums under his breath, making an inquisitive sound. Steve hears the sound of someone shutting a door again in the background as Sam says, “It sounds to me like you both just need to talk to each other, Steve. That boy’s crazy about you, and you’re crazy about him. You guys’ll work it out.”

Steve inhales deeply and clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for talking to me, Sam. Sorry I’m such a wreck. And sorry for pulling you away from whatever it was you were doing with Natasha.”

Sam scoffs playfully. “Man, she doesn’t mind, you know that. Besides, you’re my best friend, Steve. I’ll always be here to talk to you.”

The sentiment tugs on Steve’s heart strings as affection swells in his chest, and he grins to himself. Steve feels incredibly lucky to have Sam in his life and will never not be thankful that he met Sam all those years ago. Sam’s always been there for him at his most desperate times, and this time is no different.

“You better get back to Nat, Sam,” Steve sighs, his smile widening.

“You don’t wanna come over? Give you and Bucky a break for the night before you talk to each other again? I can leave right now and meet you at mine in like twenty minutes, man. We can even eat Phish Food like we used to in high school when one of us was trying to wallow our sorrows away,” Sam offers, chuckling. “It’ll be fun. We can braid each other’s hair and everything.”

“I’d only come over if you had Half Baked,” Steve replies, laughing softly. He sobers up, still smiling. “Thanks for the offer, Sam. I appreciate it. I’m okay, though. Talking to you helped.”

Sam gives him a light chuckle. “Phish Food is superior, you little shit, but whatever you say, man.”

“Half Baked is the best and you know it. Now go back to Natasha, Sam,” Steve replies.

“Alright, man. If you change your mind, call me, okay? Or if you want to just head over to mine, go right ahead. You have your own key. I’ve got like, some weed gummies, too, if you just want to mellow out and calm yourself down,” Sam says, and Steve laughs loudly.

“Jesus, Sam! We’re cops!”

“And?” Sam asks, and Steve can tell by the sound of his voice that he was just trying to get Steve to laugh. Steve’s grin widens. “It’s legal here, smartass.”

“You do _not_ have weed in your apartment.”

Sam laughs. “No, I don’t,” he agrees. “But if you want some Tito’s, I do actually have that.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m alright,” Steve replies, shaking his head fondly.

Sam chuckles again, but his voice softens as he says, “Go get your boy, Steve.”

Steve laughs softly, nodding even though he knows Sam can’t see him. “Bye, Sam. See you tomorrow.”

Sam just laughs down the line, hanging up with a small click. Steve’s once again met with the quiet interior of his car, staring straight ahead at the soft light illuminating from the lampposts above him.

Steve takes a deep breath, just trying to steady his tumultuous thoughts, even though he’s not feeling as upset anymore. His heartbeat is finally calming down to a more normal pace, still beating a little fast but steadying, and he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the steering wheel, focusing on his breathing. He feels like he could fall asleep. The exhaustion in his muscles makes his body feel heavy and sleepy.

A knock to the Camaro’s driver's side window a few minutes later has his eyes opening widely in alarm and his heart practically beating out of his chest.

He looks up sharply and turns to the direction of the knock, where Bucky is leaning down and looking at him through the window.

Bucky looks tired, and his normal gray eyes are puffy and morose. He’s looking through the window with such a sad look that Steve’s heart constricts painfully in his chest. Steve makes sure to grab his keys before quickly stepping out of the Camaro and locking it, looking at Bucky tentatively.

He’s not shirtless like he was when Steve had left him almost an hour ago. He’s wearing one of Steve’s old and worn NYPD long sleeve shirts, sweatpants, and a pair of slides with socks, and his hair looks damp. All things considered, he looks cozy.

Neither one of them speaks for a moment before Bucky seems to deflate, and his shoulders slump before he crosses his arms and his muscles strain against the long sleeve. He doesn’t look like the confident man Steve knows him to be, or the charming guy who always tries to get Steve to laugh when Steve’s mad at him.

Bucky hesitates before he speaks, head downtrodden but eyes looking tentatively to Steve’s, even though he’s still standing stoic and broody. Timidly, he asks, “Will you come back inside with me, please?”

“Sure,” Steve says, nodding as he fiddles with his car keys so he has something to do with his hands. It’s a nervous habit of his, but Bucky could probably just scent the air and know exactly how nervous Steve is just by the smell of him.

Bucky’s careful to keep his distance still, in case Steve doesn’t want to be near him, even though Steve can tell that it’s incredibly hard for him to respect the space Steve’s putting between them when he can smell how anxious Steve is. The desire to comfort and soothe must be overwhelming for him, especially when Steve knows that Bucky’s wolf is most likely going insane right now.

Bucky just turns around slowly to lead the way back to their building, his jaw clenched, while Steve follows after him, his hands in his jacket pockets.

There isn’t an elevator in their old 1800s brownstone, so they both begin the trek up the stairs. The only sound in the open stairwell is their heavy footfalls on the steps, Steve’s louder than Bucky’s because he’s still wearing his work shoes.

They reach their fourth floor apartment, and Bucky takes his keys out the pocket of his sweatpants and unlocks the door before stepping inside and holding it open for Steve, who walks inside without meeting Bucky’s eyes.

Steve skips the couch in the living room and heads straight towards the end of the hallway where their bedroom is, and he pushes the door open and walks inside of the room with a sigh. Steve doesn’t hear Bucky following him, but a moment later, Bucky stands inside the doorway of their bedroom, watching as Steve heads into their wide walk-in closet and changes out of his work clothes and into an outfit similar to what Bucky’s wearing.

When Steve reemerges from the closet, turning off the closet light and closing the door, Bucky’s sitting on the edge of their bed, bent at the waist so his elbows rest on his thighs, and his head is in his hands.

Steve walks towards him slowly, waiting for Bucky to look up at him, then crouches down and moves his hands to gently pull Bucky’s hands away from his face when Bucky continues to resolutely stare at the ground.

Bucky’s sad, gray eyes meet Steve’s, and Steve can see the sorrow and pain they hold as they both gaze into the other’s eyes, and then Steve’s moving forward and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s middle, burying his face into Bucky’s chest.

That seems to get Bucky moving, and a second later his warm, muscular arms are wrapping around Steve’s back and he’s burying his nose in Steve’s hair, inhaling deeply.

Bucky can hear how Steve’s heart is racing in his chest, and he squeezes him tighter as they both stay wrapped around each other for a moment, relaxing in the other’s warm embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says into Steve’s hair a couple of minutes later, his voice shaking. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, Buck,” Steve says, his breath hitching when he feels a wave of emotion hit him.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Steve. I’m such a fucking asshole and I’m so fucking sorry,” Bucky says, and his voice cracks brokenly into the quiet room.

“No, Bucky, you’re not, baby,” Steve says, leaning back and bringing both hands up to rub across Bucky’s cheekbones, trying to soothe him.

“Yes, I am,” Bucky says pitifully, sniffling. Steve eyes him forlornly, a little stunned at the raw emotion in Bucky’s voice. Bucky’s always so stone faced and hard, rarely ever openly showing his emotions around anyone, which sometimes includes Steve. It used to upset Steve, having made him feel like Bucky didn’t trust him enough to open up to him, especially after they’d talked about the death of Steve’s mother, how helpless he'd felt as he watched her slip away from him, and all of the horrors he’d experienced in Afghanistan, or how he still hasn’t completely gotten over them. After opening himself up like that, so vulnerable and exposed to someone he cared deeply about, it was highly disconcerting when Bucky continued to shut him out and refused to let him in. 

It’d taken months into their relationship for Bucky to finally open up to him, about how he himself was an orphan, alone in the world trying to navigate the power of being an Alpha werewolf that had been passed on to him.

Bucky guards his emotions close to his chest, and he’s not any less affectionate with Steve, but it sometimes feels like Bucky’s still hiding his feelings from Steve. He’s not coldhearted — Bucky’s probably the sweetest and most thoughtful person he knows — but he’s definitely not an open book.

Now, though, the sound of Bucky’s voice, like he’s moments away from completely breaking down into tears, makes Steve’s heart clench painfully.

“I yelled at you,” Bucky continues, sniffling again. “And I said so many awful things.” His eyes become panicked then, and he says hurriedly, “You’ve got to know that I didn’t mean any of it, Steve. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I knew you were exhausted. I could smell it on you as soon as you entered the building.” He sniffs again. “And then I had to go and pick a fight with you over nothing. _Fuck_ , I’m such a horrible person.” Bucky takes a deep breath, moving away from Steve’s hands so he can place his head in his hands again. “I _shifted_ on you. I never do that. And I made you scared of me, Steve. That’s the _last_ thing I ever want to do.”

His voice is absolutely wrecked, laden with emotion as he continues to take deep breaths.

Steve moves so he can lift Bucky’s head up again, and when Bucky doesn’t budge, he says desperately, “Baby, please look at me.”

Bucky picks his head up again, only this time his eyes are glowing bright red again, but there’s unshed tears welling in the corners of his eyelids.

“Bucky, baby,” Steve starts, grabbing Bucky’s face again. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re not a horrible person, Buck. I wasn’t scared of you, sweetheart. I was just trying to be cautious so you wouldn’t get angrier.”

“That’s even worse,” Bucky replies pitifully again, closing his eyes in despair. “You were scared I was going to hurt you. I could smell it.”

“No, baby. I was scared you were going to hurt _yourself,_ ” Steve replies, and Bucky opens his eyes in surprise, and a tear escapes his right eye. “I was worried about you shifting and getting angry that you shifted during a fight, and that you would hurt yourself because you were upset and trying to stop yourself from wolfing out.” He grabs Bucky’s hands. “You already dug your claws into your hands, baby. I didn’t want you to keep hurting yourself, and I wasn’t calming you down, so I decided to leave so that you could have some time to yourself.”

Bucky sniffles again. “I'd never hurt you, Steve. Just the thought of it tears me up inside.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head forcefully, like he’s trying to shake the thought from his head. “God, I could _never_ hurt you.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve nods, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky nods again. “I’m sorry I got angry with you. You were just trying to tell me why you were worried, and because I’ve been so fucking out of control lately, I took it the complete wrong way. I’m so sorry, baby. I feel awful.”

“I’m sorry, too, Buck. We both said some things that should have been brought up differently. But you do worry me, baby. I know that you know your limits, but you haven’t been in control of yourself lately, and I just want to make sure that you’re okay,” Steve says, running his hand over Bucky’s cheekbone again.

“I know, Stevie. I know you worry about me,” Bucky nods against Steve’s hands. He brings his own hands up to rub them over Steve’s arms reassuringly. “I’m going to take it easy, I promise, baby. And I’m going to find out why I can’t seem to control myself lately because this argument never should have happened. I’ve been so wound up lately that I didn’t even stop to think you had a point and that you were right.”

Steve smiles at him. “It’s okay, Buck. We’re okay, now. I’m sorry we argued.”

“Me, too,” Bucky says, and Steve lets him lean forward to place an apology kiss on his lips. Steve smiles at him. A moment of silence passes, and then Bucky says, “I heard you on the phone with Sam."

Steve nods. “I figured you did.”

Bucky mimics his nod. “Why didn’t you go over to his place? When you left, you said you were going over to his apartment.”

“I don’t think I was ever really going to leave, actually,” Steve responds honestly. “I really just wanted to give you some time to calm yourself down, not leave you for the night. I didn’t want to leave you. I just needed to talk to him so I could get myself to calm down, too.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “I didn’t want you to leave either. It took me almost half an hour to stop from shifting, and then I took a shower so I could shock my body.”

“Why did you pick this shirt?” Steve asks him, thumbing at the fabric of his own long sleeve.

Bucky shrugs. “It smelled like you and I was really upset. When you left, my wolf went crazy. I wanted to go after you, but the way you smelled when you left. . .I just decided to stay put. And then I could hear you on the phone with Sam, and I wanted to wait until you were done talking with him so I could come down. I didn’t mean to scare you when I knocked on the window.” Bucky smiles at him, and Steve’s heart flutters at that familiar, private smile. “He was right, though.”

“About what?” Steve asks, fighting back a yawn. His body is beginning to crash now that he’s not wound up with nervous energy and he and Bucky have made up. The adrenaline is quickly starting to leave his aching muscles.

“I’m so crazy about you, Steve. I hate that I made you upset, baby. And when I thought you were scared of me. . .” Bucky trails off, but Steve doesn’t need for him to continue to know that Bucky was ripping himself apart at the thought of Steve being scared of him.

“I’m not, Buck. I promise,” Steve whispers to him, leaning in so he can connect their mouths together. He feels Bucky melt into it, and Bucky’s hand comes up to rest on his neck, scenting him.

Bucky pulls back just as Steve moves to deepen it, looking at him lovingly. Steve watches as Bucky’s eyes dim back into his normal gray as he says, “Let’s go to bed, baby. We can talk more in the morning, and if you want me to apologize to you again, I will. I’ll apologize to you all day if you want me to.” Steve smiles at him, chuckling. “But you’re exhausted, Stevie, and you have to be up for work in seven hours.”

Steve smiles at Bucky’s words, feeling his insides melt. They’ve made up with each other, he knows, and he won’t be having Bucky apologize anymore because they’re okay.

Bucky sits up then, pulling Steve up with him, and climbs into their bed. Once they’re both snuggled into the mattress and their comforter is situated around them, Bucky pulls Steve into his arms and says, “I love you. I’m so sorry we fought.”

Steve turns in Bucky’s arms and wraps his own arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him in to place a loving kiss on his lips. “I love you, too, Buck,” he says sleepily.

With that, Bucky smiles down at him, allowing Steve to snuggle into his chest even with his oversized shoulders and all, and curls up against Bucky’s overheated skin.

Steve’s falling into a deep sleep almost immediately a moment later.

—

The next morning finds Steve leaning up against the counter beside the Keurig in their kitchen, mug in hand as he sips his sickeningly sweet coffee slowly, trying his best to wake his body up.

It’s barely seven in the morning, and Steve’s got to be at the precinct in half an hour to see if Sharon’s got any results on the hairs found in the shower drain at the cabin crime scene, but he’s _so_ tired and sleepy. Those seven hours he’d gotten last night did nothing to dispel the exhaustion lingering behind his eyes.

Steve sits his mug down and brings his empty hand up to rub at his eyes, trying to work the heavy feeling of exhaustion out of his irises. The warmth emitting from his hand from the hot coffee only seeps into his eye sockets and makes him even more sleepy, and he sighs deeply through his nostrils.

He hears Bucky’s footsteps make their way towards him a second later, hears him lean against the counter beside where Steve’s currently relaxing against and trying not to fall back asleep, and then Bucky’s nudging him softly. Steve opens his eyes, feeling the residual tightness cause his vision to go a little bleary, and focuses his periphery to see Bucky’s hand extended out, offering Steve a bottle of eye drops.

Steve chuckles, reaching out and taking the eye drops. “Good idea, Buck.”

Bucky smiles a tight-lipped smile at him, watching as Steve uncaps the small bottle and tilts his head back, placing a drop in each of his eyes. Steve snaps his eyes shut tightly and shakes his head a little before tilting his head down and opening his eyes, blinking rapidly.

“Thank you,” Steve says, placing the eye drops in the pocket of his sweatpants and grabbing his mug.

“You work too hard,” Bucky responds, turning around from his place on the counter and reaching behind Steve’s head to grab another mug.

Steve just gives him a look over the brim of the coffee mug, eyebrows raised. Bucky backtracks then, shaking his head. “I just don’t like to see you this exhausted all the time, Steve.”

Steve swallows his coffee, nodding. “I know, Buck. Sam and I just got a new case, and you know how it goes.”

Bucky nods, scoffing lightly. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s quiet for another minute, placing one of his favorite coffee k-cups in the Keurig, and pushes the buttons to get it brewing, placing his mug on top of the drip tray.

Steve’s a little surprised that Bucky’s this awake and moving purposefully instead of the normal grogginess he’s used to. It’s really early, and Bucky’s not due at the garage for at least three more hours, and he’s _really_ not a morning person.

Bucky just leans back against the counter again, watching the Keurig, but his body language is anything but relaxed.

He speaks a moment later, and Steve suddenly gets why he’s willing to be up at this early hour.

“I know you're probably tired of hearing me say it, but I’m really sorry about last night, Steve. I swear to you something like that won’t happen again, baby.”

Steve sets his mug on the counter, turning back to Bucky with a serious face. “Buck, you don’t have to keep saying that you’re sorry. I know you feel bad about it, and I feel bad about it, too. I hope nothing like that happens again, because I hate fighting with you and that situation was a little scary, but I know you’re sorry, and I know you didn’t mean it.”

Bucky looks up at him from where he’d been staring at the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug, frowning. “I don’t like that I told you I didn’t take orders from you. I didn’t even mean to say that. And I don’t think you do that at _all._ ”

“I could tell that it didn’t seem like you knew what you were saying," Steve agrees, leaning back again and crossing his arms, fixing Bucky with a look, “but I forgive you, so stop apologizing and come kiss me good morning.”

Bucky’s lips break out into a wide, wolfish grin, and then he’s turning towards Steve and pushing him further into the counter and kissing him deeply. Steve feels himself melt against Bucky’s overheated body, and he kisses back harder.

Bucky pulls back slightly so he can bite Steve’ bottom lip, and Steve feels his lungs release a gasping breath.

Bucky’s hand cups Steve’s jaw, but he pulls back completely and leans his forehead against Steve’s, smiling brightly and says quietly, “Good morning.”

Steve smiles back and chuckles, leaning forward and kissing Bucky again. He tastes like peppermint, and his hand is hot against Steve’s jaw.

Steve pulls away from him, letting Bucky grab his mug and take a sip of his coffee before Steve sits his own cup in the sink, washing it out and placing it on the drying rack. He turns around, drying his hands on a dish towel before sighing deeply, mind drifting to his impending detective work and the case that’s already making his brain a little muddled.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky asks behind his mug.

Steve sighs again. “This case Sam and I are on. It’s just really strange and already got us a little stumped,” he replies, setting the towel down.

“You and Sam will figure it out, Stevie. You always do,” Bucky replies, bringing the hand not holding his mug up to palm the back of Steve’s neck. "I _am_ serious about you working yourself too hard, baby. You’re practically falling asleep right here.”

Steve sighs, “I’m okay, Buck. We’ve just got a lot going on right now with this case and we’re just trying to make sense of it. And these past few weeks have just been a little rough.”

“I know,” Bucky nods, rubbing his thumb at the top of Steve’s spine. “I just worry about you, is all. Tell you what,” he says, sitting his mug down and kissing the back of Steve’s neck, “you and I’ll have dinner tonight — I’ll make something quick and easy — and then we’ll call it an early night and go right to bed after. You’ve got to get some sleep, baby. I don’t like how tired you smell.”

Steve feels his cheeks heat with affection, and he turns around to lean up and place another loving kiss to Bucky’s lips, smiling widely at his boyfriend’s sincerity. “Sounds good, Buck. I’ll try to get home as fast as I can.”

“Good,” Bucky growls playfully, moving his head so he can bury his nose into Steve’s throat and inhale deeply. “Cause I want to wrap you up in my arms right now and not let you leave until you smell rested and happy.”

Steve chuckles and pulls Bucky’s head up to kiss him and says, “Okay, Alpha wolf. I can’t wait. But right now, I really need to get into the shower so I’m not late to work. And you should go back to sleep for a little bit so you’re not grumpy for the rest of the day.”

Bucky just tightens his arms around Steve and huffs, placing another kiss on Steve’s forehead, before he pulls back and lets Steve go, brooding.

Steve laughs at his petulant look, pecks Bucky’s lips again, and moves out of the kitchen towards their bedroom so he can take a quick shower.

He’d been too tired to go on his run, and he knows he’ll probably regret not working off his energy later, but the stiffness of his muscles from the lingering fatigue just makes him even more sleepy, and he wants nothing more than to just climb into their warm bed and sleep for a while. It’s not going to be too bad if he skips out on his run for another day.

After he’s showered and dressed in his work clothes, Steve heads back out into the kitchen where Bucky’s buttering him two pieces of toast. He lets Bucky practically shove it down his throat, laughing at Bucky’s insistence to make sure Steve’s fed, kisses him deeply, pushes him back towards their bedroom so he can go back to sleep for a few hours, and heads down to the Camaro.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve’s walking into the precinct, and the first thing he’s met with is Sam leaning up against his desk, shoving a breakfast sandwich into his mouth.

“Man,” Sam starts when he sees Steve. “I’ve been waiting on you forever!”

“Why are you leaning up against my desk and getting crumbs all over my case files when yours is perfectly fine and _right there_?” Steve asks in lieu of a greeting, placing his car keys on top of the desk. He chuckles though, not actually mad.

Sam lays the sandwich on a napkin on top of Steve’s desk, wiping his hands against each other to knock the crumbs off, and looks at Steve with an expectant brow. “How did things go last night? Everything good?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, we’re all good. We talked last night and some this morning, and we've both apologized and worked everything out.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Steve,” Sam says with a smile. “Told you it’d all work out. What’s been his problem lately, anyway?”

Steve moves around his desk chair, resting his forearms on the back of his chair so he can support himself when he leans forward, and says, “I honestly don’t know. He’s just been really antsy and moody lately. He hasn’t treated me any different, except last night, but he’s just so testy.” He glances around to make sure no one is listening into their conversation and lowers his voice pointedly. “You know how Bucky’s got amazing control of his shift, right?”

Sam nods.

“Well, for the past month, it’s like he’s saying and doing things that he doesn’t realize he’s doing, or like he can’t stop himself from doing them,” Steve continues, bringing his head down a little to run a hand through his hair.

“Like what?” Sam asks.

“Like. . .” Steve trails off, thinking. “He’s shifting a lot more than he used to, and he’s even more overprotective than he normally is. And when he gets worked up, which is happening more lately, too, his eyes turn red and they stay red for _hours_.”

“Even during. . .” Sam trails off, motioning in the air what Steve only assumes can mean _sex._

Steve feels his face heat up, but he nods. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” Sam whistles.

“I don’t know, Sam. It’s just weird. It’s like he’s not in control of himself.”

“Should you come and stay with me?” Sam asks, concerned, mimicking Steve and crossing his arms petulantly. “Like, is this something where you shouldn’t be around him so he doesn’t hurt you?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not worried about _me_ , Sam, I’m worried about him. He’s not dangerous to me, you know that. He’d hurt himself before he’d hurt me.”

Sam relents at that, relaxing. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“But I don’t want him to hurt himself,” Steve continues, shaking his head to rid himself of the anxiety that thought fills him with. “That’s what scares me. We both don’t know why he’s acting this way.”

“What are you guys gonna do, then? Have him keep lashing out at you?” Sam asks, but Steve knows he’s just asking because he cares about the both of them, not because he’s trying to be negative.

“No. Bucky said he’s going to try and find out what’s wrong. I think he’s a little freaked out by his behavior, and he doesn’t like that he’s worrying me about it,” Steve responds.

“I hope he does, man. The dude’s an Alpha werewolf. He could do some serious damage to someone if he doesn’t get himself under wraps soon, and that includes you, too, Steve,” Sam says, pointing his finger at Steve in a very ‘parent scolding their child’ type of way.

Steve sighs. “I know, Sam. He’s okay. It’s _Bucky._ ”

Sam echoes Steve’s sigh, uncrossing his arms and raising his hands to clap them loudly, shifting gears.

“Well, your ludicrous and wolfy personal life aside, Steve,” Sam says teasingly, reaching behind himself to graph his sandwich, “I’ve got more information on our ballistics.”

Steve rolls his eyes playfully, switching into detective mode easily at the shift in subject. “Yeah? What did you find out?”

Sam gives him a sly grin. “Well, firstly, the ballistics guy saw that none of these bullets had been used in a U.S. case before, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been used overseas somewhere. Dude ran the bullets through the international ballistics database and the results came back restricted.”

Steve huffs. “How does that help us?”

“Techie called in a favor,” Sam replies, smug, taking another bite of his sandwich and swallowing before continuing. “Apparently, the techie has a friend working ballistics for the military and sent the report to him. The guy was able to run the calibers through the military ballistics database."

“It’s certainly nice to have friends of friends in high places,” Steve says, nodding. “What’d he find?"

Sam finishes his sandwich, crumpling up the wrapper and throwing it under Steve’s desk into his wastebasket. When he moves, Steve catches sight of a manilla file on top of the desk, and Sam grabs it when he stands back up again, opening it up and handing it to Steve.

"The same weapon involved in our homicide was used in a crime in Pakistan a month ago,” Sam says after he swallows the sandwich, pointing at the bullets.

"This gun gets around,” Steve whistles, skimming the words on the file. "What happened in Pakistan?"

"Military supplies were stolen and a warehouse guard was shot."

Steve looks up and raises his eyebrows. “The plot thickens."

"Yeah, and then it thins out completely when you get to page two of that file,” Sam says, and Steve flips to the next page, only to find the words heavily marked out with black lines. "The report’s been heavily redacted."

"Yeah, I’ll say,” Steve scoffs. "The whole thing’s blacked out.”

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do with it, but at least we know that this gun has been used before,” Sam shrugs, frowning.

“This case just keeps getting weirder,” Steve sighs, handing the file back to Sam, who tucks it under his arm and takes a sip of water from his lucky water bottle he’s also got sitting on Steve’s desk.

“Hey, Detectives,” Steve hears, and he looks up to see Sharon walking up to where he and Sam are talking at his desk.

“Hey, player,” Sam shoots back at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Did you get a result on those hairs for us, Sharon?” Steve asks, nodding his head at her in acknowledgment.

“Sure did, hotshot,” Sharon says, placing her hands on her hips. She looks smug. “I’ve analyzed the oxygen isotopes from local water supplies that left markers in Bruce’s hair that have indicated where he’s been in the last three months.”

“Okay,” Steve nods, waiting for her to continue.

“Each 0.44 millimeters of hair is basically a day in the life,” Sharon continues, before smiling. “And this guy has been to a lot of places in these five centimeters.”

She taps on the tablet in her hands, pulling something up, and turns it around for both Steve and Sam to look at.

What she shows them is actually a world map, and each press of her fingers on the touchscreen highlights a path of destination on the map from the United States to multiple overseas countries as she continues, “This guy has been to Iraq, D.C., Israel, Sweden, D.C. again, and Pakistan in just the last ninety days. And all of those places have a heavy traffic of firearm flow.”

Steve tilts his head to the side, deliberating. “So, he _has_ traveled apart from what his expenses show.”

Sam fixes him with an ‘a-ha’ look, and Steve rolls his eyes. Sam’s not right about _everything._

“But there’s no official records of him going to these places. No airline tickets, no immunizations, no State Department records — nothing,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“So, his passport’s never been stamped, but his body’s been all over the world?” Sharon asks disbelievingly.

“Hey,” a voice says behind them, and all three of them turn around to see the stern face of Natasha. She looks extremely irritated and frustrated. “Rogers, Wilson, Carter — my office. Now.”

She turns around without any further elaboration, her long red hair snapping around her shoulders. Sam and Steve share a look, a little concerned at the hard tone of her voice, but the three of them move to comply quickly, following her into her office.

When they enter, Steve’s hackles rise immediately when he sees two guys in suits standing near her desk, and he moves towards the middle of Natasha’s office with his arms crossed, his jaw hardening.

“Rogers, Wilson, Carter — this is Agent Parker and Special-Agent-in-Charge Coulson. They’re with the New York field office of the FBI.”

Steve’s lungs fill with irritation.

“We’re here to help you with the homicide of Bruce Banner,” Agent Parker says, eying them all cautiously. Steve looks at him with a barely suppressed grimace. This agent hardly looks as if he could be out of college, let alone working for the FBI. He’s just a _kid_.

“You mean you’re here to take over the case from us,” Sam corrects him, his voice like venom.

“Not at all, Detectives,” Special-Agent-in-Charge Coulson says, giving them all a timid smile. He, at least, looks exactly what Steve would think a stereotypical Special Agent would look like. He’s got a friendly face and relaxed body language, and Steve’s momentarily thrown as he looks at him with narrowed eyes. Something about the way Coulson holds himself is familiar, like he carries himself with the air of someone who’s been doing this for a while. It’s unsettling, how it hits Steve right in the chest that he recognizes that slightly monosyllabic voice. “This case is still under New York P.D. jurisdiction. We don’t want to interfere with your investigation. We’re just here to offer some assistance.”

“Assistance with what, exactly?” Sharon asks, holding her tablet to her chest.

“That, I’m afraid, is on a need-to-know basis,” Agent Parker says, not unkindly. _Who the hell_ is _this kid?_ Steve thinks as he raises his eyebrows in slight shock.

“And who decides who needs to know?” Sharon bites back, undeterred.

“Anyway,” Agent Coulson says, clapping his hands in front of himself as he avoids Sharon’s question. Steve sees Sharon rolls her eyes. “We’re really excited to be working with you.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam scoffs, sarcastic, before smiling a mocking smile, “ditto.”

“Hey, play nice,” Natasha says sternly.

“Coulson, as in _Phil_ Coulson?” Steve asks in realization suddenly, eyes snapping to the agent. Slight panic begins to bubble up in his chest. It’s been a long time since he’s thought about his times overseas, but he _definitely_ remembers Phil Coulson.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Coulson responds, eyes assessing Steve before extending his hand out. “Rogers, is it?”

“Steve,” he replies, moving to shake the agent’s hand.

“Oh,” Coulson says quietly, clarity dawning over his face. “Our paths have crossed before, Detective,” he says, smiling tentatively.

“Yes, sir. During that military investigation in Afghanistan.”

“Right,” Coulson responds, placing his hand back into his pocket. “Great to see you again, Captain.”

Steve just nods in response, and suddenly the dog tags resting in the center of his chest feel cold, and he becomes acutely aware that everyone is staring at him.

Steve doesn’t make it a habit of wearing his dog tags that often. Sometimes, the reminder is too much for him. Other times, he feels as if it’s almost disrespectful not to wear them. Lately, though, for the last few weeks, ever since the Danvers case, he’s been wearing them constantly. He doesn’t remember the last time he took them off. Maybe now, as Coulson gives him a slightly pinched look, he might need to take them off for a while.

Sharon just looks at him quizzically, shock evident in her expression, and Sam’s openly staring at him like he’s grown two heads. Steve just looks back at them blankly. He can see the question in Natasha’s eyes, like she wants to push but doesn’t know how far to go. Sam, at least, looks _really_ sympathetic behind his shock. He knows how much Steve struggles with fighting off his memories of Afghanistan.

Steve can’t explain himself right now. He can’t make himself think about those times again. Seeing Coulson has already made him panic slightly. If they make him talk about it, he might start _actually_ having a panic attack.

Thankfully, Parker interrupts the sight tension by clearing his throat, and Natasha, Sam, and Sharon all snap their attention to him. Steve feels something in the pit of his stomach loosen slightly, and he takes a deep breath before he looks at Parker again.

“Okay, Lieutenant, we said that we’d brief _you_ , so why have you brought in these detectives?” Agent Parker asks, moving to grab a black tablet from his briefcase while Coulson takes a seat in one of Natasha’s empty chairs, eyes carefully avoiding Steve’s.

“I’m not a detective,” Sharon tells Parker, grinning at the agent smugly.

“Exactly,” the agent huffs, indignant.

Natasha takes a seat at her desk and laces her fingers on top of the hardwood, fixing the young agent with a stern look. “This is Detective Sam Wilson.” She points at Sam, who’s still looking at the two agents maliciously. “This is my Coroner and Forensic Expert, Sharon Carter.” She moves to Sharon, who gives the agents a wide smile. “And we’ve already established that this is Detective Steve Rogers.” Her gaze snaps to Steve, giving him a hesitant look. He just gives her a nod, and she continues, “Say what you want about this case being on a ’need-to-know’ basis, but these three individuals are the smartest and most stubborn policemen in all of New York City, and they’re not going to stop until they figure out who killed Bruce Banner.”

The silence in the room is deafening, and Parker just looks flabbergasted for a moment, sharing a look with Coulson. Sam mimics a mic dropping.

“So, if you’d like to continue with briefing us, I’d greatly appreciate it,” Natasha ends, giving the agent her patented glare.

The agent takes a deep breath and nods, taking a seat next to his partner.

“What’s going on here, Agents? Anything you’d like to share with the class?” Sam asks, moving to sit on the armrest of Natasha’s sofa, impatient.

“My partner can be a little impolite, but he’s right, Agents. We’ve got a room full of guns, missing bodies, and now the FBI? Is this domestic terrorism? We just want to know what we’re dealing with,” Steve says, snapping himself from his silence. He’s got a job to do. He can’t let his panic distract him.

“We have no reason to believe that Dr. Banner was a threat,” Parker starts, sighing.

“He was a ballistics consultant, right?” Steve asks, moving to lean against another doorway of Natasha’s office as he takes another deep inhale. “Yours or the military’s?”

“What makes you say that?” Coulson asks, twisting in his seat so he can look at Steve.

“I didn’t say it,” Steve says, eyes flickering to Sharon’s. “A strand of his hair did.”

The agents both look to Sharon, surprise evident in their gazes, and she lets them squirm a moment before saying, “For three months, he’s been jumping from D.C. to every artillery hotspot on the globe. He’s either in the mood for some unauthorized travel, or he’s helping the military correctly purchase the best type of weapons.”

“We can’t really speak to that,” Parker says, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“Can you speak to why you guys are so interested in his death?” Sam asks, and Steve can detect that sarcasm still lurking beneath his words even though he asks it somewhat politely.

“We’re more interested in the weapon that killed him,” Parker replies, unlocking the tablet in his hands and holding it up so they all can see.

On the tablet, there’s a picture of a large gun that looks Afghani to Steve’s eyes, but he’s never seen a weapon like this. It’s got a huge nozzle and trigger, and the loading clip is long and thick. It looks kind of like an AK-47 on steroids, just smaller and probably more deadly.

“This is the SH-IE7D, manufactured in Sweden, and currently used by U.S. troops in urban sweeps of Pakistan,” Parker continues.

“It’s an entry weapon,” Coulson adds, leaning against the arm of the chair. “And it’s got a lot of power. There’s a compact frame that allows our troops to go around corners and sweep stairwells — it’s a bit of a beast.”

“How the hell did a weapon like that end up in Brooklyn?” Natasha asks, pointing at the image of the gun.

“I’m afraid that’s classified, Lieutenant,” Parker says, closing the tablet and placing it back into his briefcase.

“Of course, it is,” Sam mutters under his breath, scoffing.

It’s quiet again in the office, and Sharon crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at the young agent.

“Out of curiosity, what year did you graduate from Brigham Young?”

Parker looks at her, confused. “2018. How’d you know?”

“FBI recruiters are all over that place like flies on a rotting body,” Sharon says, waving her hand. “I just thought you looked a little young to be knowing such _classified_ information.”

Steve bites down on his lip so he doesn’t laugh and watches as Parker’s eyes narrow. “If you’re concerned with my age, Ms. Carter, I promise you, I’ve earned my stripes.”

“So have I,” Sam cuts in, standing. “Every suspicious dead body that winds up on the precinct’s door ends up with a pair of you guys. Eight out of ten times, the case goes well. Hell, your resources and manpower sure make my job a lot easier.”

“And. . .the other two?” Parker asks, tilting his head.

“You guys lose interest and chase after the next, more gruesome murder, leaving us with a pretty shoddy chain of custody.”

“We have no intention of compromising your investigation, Detective Wilson,” Coulson says, turning to give Sam another kind smile.

“And I have no intention of letting you,” Natasha says, rising to her feet and placing her hands palm down on her desk so she can lean forwards on them, supporting her weight. “So, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to pair up. Mixed doubles. My detectives here will get an FBI partner, which doesn’t mean you and Steve still won’t be working together, Sam,” Natasha sighs, eyeing Sam when he looks like he’s about to cut in and whine. “Steve, why don’t you take Agent Coulson?” she says, and Sam scoffs in response. Steve just eyes her blankly. He knows that she wouldn’t be assigning them together if she thought that Steve couldn’t handle it, but the thought of working with Coulson makes his stomach coil. He just sighs, nodding, and Natasha continues, “You two can go back out to the cabin and re-scour the place. Let’s get a bead on that body.” Steve nods again and stands. “Sam, you’ll be with Agent Parker, and I want you to look more into the shooting in Pakistan. I wanna know all about this SH-IE7D gun. Sharon, go back and continue to work the blood, okay? We can all reconvene and share our findings,” Natasha says, smiling at them. “I bet everyone will have something to share with the class when they get back.” She winks at Sam.

Sam turns to Parker, smiling mockingly again. “Somebody has spilled ink all over my Pakistani crime report — I mean, look at all that information that’s blacked out!” Sam says dramatically, sarcastically flipping through the file he’s still got in his hands so Parker can see it. “I’m guessing your copy is a little more legible than mine is, right?”

Parker crosses his arms, looking vindictive, and just rolls his eyes.

Steve turns to Coulson as Sam grumbles, offering him a tentative grin. “I’ll drive us out to the cabin.”

Coulson grins at him, nodding his head, and then turns to Parker, who looks stone-faced and irritated, and says, “Hey, I get my own driver.” He chuckles. “Score.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Firstly, I'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone who continues to read, comment, and leave me kudos! You guys are amazing!! Secondly, I meant to post this chapter yesterday, and I thought I posted it, but sadly I did not. Again, I've tried to catch any errors in this chapter, but I apologize in advance if there are any. Here's to chapter 5!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Please heed the tags. There is a scene in this chapter that details a panic attack and continues discussing mentions of PTSD. Nothing goes too in depth, but please read with caution if those two topics are triggers for you. Note the updated tags.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Pour yourself into me and I will not let a drop of you hit the ground.” — Rudy Francisco_

The drive back over to the cabin is full of awkward silence. It takes Steve and Coulson longer to get back across town towards Prospect Park because of the morning traffic rush, and Steve idly grows more and more irritated as the cars begin to move slower in front of him.

Steve can tell that Coulson wants to strike up a conversation with him, but he still sits back, quiet, and watches the New York scenery pass by as they drive, even though they’re moving no faster than a walking nearby tourist when they turn from Washington onto Ocean Ave. He seems to be able to sense Steve’s reluctance to talk about anything they might have in common, or anything related to Afghanistan, and continues to sit quietly in the passenger seat, silent but content.

Finally, after another ten minutes, Steve’s rounding the bend again and pulling up towards the cabin.

They both step out of the car, and Steve snaps on a pair of his sunglasses as he closes the car door behind him.

“So, Detective,” Coulson says, turning towards Steve and holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright sun. “Why are we back here? Did you miss something the first time?”

For a moment, Steve’s taken aback. He glances at Coulson quickly, but Coulson just looks back at him with a polite yet expectant look as he waits for Steve to answer. Steve just nods a tad stiffly, replying, “Yes. Context. As your people were obscuring it.”

Steve grabs a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, pulling out a second pair and offering them to the agent in slight retribution.

Coulson accepts them, snapping them on.

“There were some things we didn’t know before. We now know that someone brought a super-gun to an expert,” Steve continues, moving from the car and walking to the side of the cabin, where the dark red blood pool is still roped off. “That expert was then shot by the same weapon in his kitchen and then he was wrapped in a shower curtain and brought out here.”

“Where he was shot again,” Coulson fills in for him, gesturing to the blood pool in the dirt.

“But why the overkill?” Steve asks, bending down to look at the dirt again. There are multiple indentations in the dirt where the casing were dug out, bits of dried flesh and blood mixing with the soil.

“Maybe it wasn’t overkill,” Coulson says, lifting a bit of his dress pants so that he can bend down without wrinkling them. “I mean, based on the grouping of the bullets and the volume, my guess is the assailant zippered him.”

“ _‘Zippered him?'"_ Steve asks, leaning back. “Like how the troops do it overseas?”

Coulson nods. “If a weapon’s cyclic rate is fast enough, and the ammo’s strong enough, it’s possible to rip right through the body. It’s a sure fire way to kill a man.” He stands, placing his hands in his pockets and looks down at the blood pool curiously. “But why halve a man when he’s already dead?”

Steve looks around, thinking, and spots a shed just a few feet away from them. He walks towards it, moving a strand of yellow crime scene tape out of his way, and looks at the items on the workbench.

Like the inside of the gun room, almost all of Bruce’s tools and items are meticulously placed in order of varying size. He’s got wrenches, cleaning agents, more hardware tools, and scrub brushes on the workbench, all spaced accordingly and straightened, but one of the items is overturned and the box of it is ripped and damaged. Steve picks it up, turning it around, and sees a label on the slim package for heavy duty extra-large black trash bags.

Bruce Banner is an incredibly meticulous organizer and seems to like to keep his things neat. He definitely wouldn’t have left that box on the table without putting it back in its normal place.

Steve holds the box up so Coulson can see, shaking it so the tubing holding the trash bags inside the package shakes, and says, “I’m thinking ease of transport. Banner wouldn’t have left these out like this. Maybe our killer used these to dispose of Bruce’s body. A whole body wouldn’t fit inside just one of these trash bags. They’re too small. Our guy probably would have needed to bisect him so that Bruce would fit.”

“Okay,” Coulson nods, turning back around and walking the few paces to the blood pool before nodding back to Steve. “So, the killer pulls the shower curtain from the bathroom, wraps the body in it, and hauls the body out here, but he’s still got to move it.”

“Right,” Steve nods, walking towards Coulson and pointing at the dirt a couple yards away. “Our techies casted forensic molds of tire tracks we found in the dirt over there, and Sam and I determined they matched to a Dodge pickup truck. Maybe the killer dismembers the body with the gun, stuff, ties, and throws Banner into these trash bags and puts the bags into the bed of his truck.”

“And then gets away without a trace,” Coulson fills in, nodding his head in affirmation.

Steve takes his sunglasses off, glancing at Coulson and shrugging. “I’ve seen idiots like this one use garbage bags for body disposals all the time, and they almost always leak somewhere.”

Steve moves towards the tire tracks, scanning the dirt. After a moment, he spots what he was looking for.

There, on the side of a rock, is a single large gravitational blood drop.

He grins, swinging his sunglasses in his hands. “Got a directional blood drop over here.” Coulson walks over to where Steve’s standing, and Steve takes his phone out to take a picture of the evidence of the blood drop. “Looks like our suspect pulled out of here pretty quickly and started heading East.” He turns to Coulson, raising an eyebrow. “You up for a walk?”

Coulson just smiles politely, trailing after Steve a moment later.

They lapse back into silence again, but they’re both looking closely at the dirt road to see if they can detect any more blood.

Steve turns his head to Coulson, hesitating half a second before saying, “Your partner’s a little young to be in the FBI, isn't he?”

Coulson just laughs, kicking over a rock with one of his shiny dress shoes. “The kid’s barely twenty, but he’s as smart as a whip. He keeps me on my toes.”

“I bet,” Steve chuckles back, eying the underside of what looks to be a piece of scrap metal.

“Truthfully, the kid’s my replacement,” Coulson says, shrugging when Steve looks at him with a puzzled expression. “I’m training him until I can de-camp the New York office."

“You on to some bigger and better things?” Steve asks, turning his gaze back to the ground.

Coulson shrugs again. “I don’t know about better. Maybe more important, I suppose. I might be moving back to Quantico so I can help train young and hopeful recruits. My superiors haven’t been too forward with that information yet.”

Steve nods respectfully at that, looking out into the greenery of the park. It's a nice day out, and the slight breeze that drifts over the back of his neck has him inhaling deeply in appreciation.

Coulson turns to him after a few seconds, grinning behind his own pair of sunglasses he’d fished out of his suit pocket a mile back. “What about you, Detective? Do you enjoy chasing after the scum of New York City?”

Steve hums. “It’s better than getting shot at all the time, sir.” He sticks his hands in his jacket pockets a tad uncomfortably. “Civilian life hasn’t treated me too bad.”

“You biding your time, then, until you can move up through the ranks, Captain?” Coulson asks innocently, but Steve feels his blood run cold at hearing his former title. He has no use for that anymore.

“I’m not sure I’d want that, honestly,” Steve says, taking a deep breath to calm his suddenly erratic heart. “The Lieutenant is perfectly capable of keeping all of us in line. Besides, I’m pretty good at what I do. Wouldn’t want to break what doesn’t need to be fixed.”

“Yeah,” Coulson chuckles. “Natasha Romanoff isn’t someone I’d want to cross.” His gaze sweeps out over the dirt road. “So, then what do you want then, Detective?”

Steve exhales through his nose, looking over at the agent, but Coulson’s just giving him a friendly smile, seemingly innocuous in his growing arsenal of personal questions. Steve’s quiet for a moment, before he sighs. “Right now, I want more blood drops. I haven’t seen any in the last hundred or so yards.”

“I hope the trail hasn't run dry,” Coulson says, continuing to walk forward, eyes trained down into the dirt.

Steve looks up, squinting in the sunlight despite his eyes already being shielded from the sun, and gazes into the sky. He hears it then, and his head snaps in the direction of the squawking.

“I think you may have spoken too soon, sir,” Steve says, and Coulson looks at him before following Steve’s gaze into the sky, bringing his head up to mimic Steve’s position. “We’ve got vultures.”

Another mile of walking later, Steve and Coulson hike up a small hill, only to be met with two bloated black, heavy duty trash bags.

“Bruce Banner, I presume?” Coulson asks, kneeling down to take in the scene.

Bruce Banner’s bloodied and bruised hand is sticking out of the top of one of the bags, and Steve pulls out his phone to photograph it, crouching down.

There are bits of flesh stuck in the red plastic ties of the trash bags, and the bags themselves are ripped in increments, revealing bloodied and bullet hole ridden skin, and the smell of a rotting decomposing body hits Steve full on when he moves to photograph the other side of the bags. In this heat and scorching sun, Bruce’s body isn’t going to be fun to autopsy.

Steve really does _not_ envy Sharon right now.

“It looks like these vultures found him a few hours before we did,” Steve says, pointing at the mangled arm. “Those scratches on his arm probably came from their talons.” He looks around, noticing how close they are to one of the numerous trails and bike paths that separate different areas of the park. “I’m surprised a biker didn’t find him before we did.”

“I don’t know,” Coulson says, scanning their surroundings. “This is a pretty secluded spot.”

Steve continues, undeterred, “Good call on the zippering.”

Coulson just grins, leaning down and untying the bag that Bruce’s hand sticking out of it. When he opens it, he moves a gloved hand inside, pulling out a broken beer bottle.

Steve photographs it. “That’s probably the beer bottle that made a water ring on the counter that CSUs found in the victim’s cabin. Sam did say CSUs found evidence Bruce invited his killer inside, even sharing a beer with him.”

“Check this out,” Coulson says, moving the bag out of the way slightly to reveal what Steve thinks is Bruce’s bicep, where the head of a severely scratched and altered tattoo can be seen inked onto his flesh.

“It looks like a tattoo,” Steve says, taking a picture of it as well.

“I can’t make it out, though,” Coulson says. “It’s too scratched out.”

Steve leans back, glancing at Coulson. “We better call Sharon. She’ll be able to examine his body and maybe tell us what that tattoo says.” He dials her number, looking at Coulson again and smiling. "We may have just gotten ourselves some answers."

“For Banner’s sake,” Coulson replies, glancing down at the trash bags somberly, “I hope you’re right."

Sharon is ecstatic as always when she answers his call, and she’s driving up to them and loading Bruce’s body into the back of her coroner’s van half an hour after Steve hangs up with her. She tells Steve she’ll call him again when she’s got some answers for him after the autopsy, but it’s going to be at least a few hours before she’ll know anything.

Steve decides that he and Coulson should head back to the precinct after they part ways with Sharon, and when they both walk through the door and make their way over to Steve’s desk, Sam’s throwing pieces of popcorn up into the air and catching them in his mouth as he sits at his own desk, looking completely at ease and relaxed.

Steve scoffs when he sees him, raising an eyebrow even as a teasing grin spreads over his mouth. “You are such a child, Sam. What are you, _twelve_?”

Sam gives him a big grin in response, throwing his next piece of popcorn at Steve’s head.

Coulson sits in Steve’s spare chair, placing his sunglasses on top of Steve’s desk.

“Where’s your Agent at?” Steve asks, moving to sit down in his own desk chair, shoving Sam’s bag of popcorn lightly off his desk.

Sam chucks another piece into his mouth, nodding towards the other side of the precinct. “Getting my un-redacted file for me. We went over the ballistics report again when you two left, but no dice. You find anything useful out there?”

Steve nods, a little smug. “We found Bruce’s body.”

Sam’s eyes bug out of his head. “You found his _body_? Where?”

“A few miles from the cabin. He was in trash bags,” Coulson supplies, leaning his head against his hand tiredly.

“And he was bisected,” Steve adds, leaning back and crossing his arms against his chest, chuckling when Sam’s eyes grow even bigger.

“His body was cut in _half_? Please tell me you took pictures,” Sam groans. “You _always_ get to do the fun stuff on cases like these.”

“ _Fun?_ ” He hears Coulson mutter confusedly, and Steve doesn’t blame him. To an outsider, Sam must come across as over enthusiastic and a little dramatic about these kinds of cases, but Steve’s used to it. Sam’s been like this for as long as Steve’s known him.

“It’s cause I’m Natasha’s favorite,” Steve replies, reaching across his desk and pulling the Banner file out his stack so he can record the new evidence that will eventually make it onto their homicide board, along with the photos Steve had taken at the crime scene.

“Yeah,” Sam scoffs. “You wish, man.” He shakes his popcorn bag and looks sullenly down at, what Steve guesses, the rattling unpopped kernels inside.

“You do anything actually productive besides looking at the ballistics report while we were gone?” Steve asks, flicking a stray kernel onto Sam’s desk.

Sam gives him an exaggerated eye roll, crumpling up the empty bag and tossing it dramatically onto his own desk, heaving a heavy sigh. “Of course, I did, sweet cheeks. I organized your pencil cup.”

He motions to Steve’s desk, where the pencil cup looks about ready to topple over at the amount of stuff bursting out of it. There’s a few pens and pencils, sure, but the cup is packed with paper clips, sticky notes, what looks like Sharon’s metal straw, and Steve thinks he can see his Army issued pick knife hidden behind Sam’s pair of bamboo chopsticks.

Steve just rolls his eyes. Coulson takes out the chopsticks, analyzing them, and then nods like his curiosity has been satisfied and then has to forcefully push them back down into the pencil cup when they don’t slide back in as easily as when he’d pulled them out.

Sam gives Coulson an odd look, blinking at him, then shakes his head and turns to Steve. He smirks. “Bucky called earlier.”

That gets Steve’s attention, and he looks up from the Banner file and snaps his eyes to Sam’s. Trying to keep any real panic from his voice, he asks, “He called _here?_ To the precinct?”

Bucky always calls Steve directly, even though he doesn’t really call Steve that often when Steve’s working. If Bucky has something to tell him, he normally just texts Steve. He never calls to the _precinct._

“Well, actually, he called me. And let me tell you — that man is such a _gossip_ , Steve. We spent ten minutes just talking about your eyes,” Sam says, and smirks wider when Steve rolls his eyes instinctively, even as he slumps slightly in relief.

“What did he actually say?” Steve asks, glancing at Coulson. If something’s wrong with Bucky, Steve’s probably going to have to leave him here, and although Coulson doesn’t look like the kind of guy to hold a grudge, Steve doesn’t think he would appreciate being left alone with Sam, who he’s still eyeing warily. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Sam replies, dropping his teasing and shrugging. Steve knows that Sam would never joke about something being wrong with Bucky. He knows how serious Steve gets when he thinks something is wrong with the people he cares about. “He just asked if you were alright since you weren’t answering your phone and asked where you were. He wants you to call him whenever you have a chance.”

Steve nods, then looks at Coulson. “Will you be alright if I step out to make that call? I’ll be right back, and then we can add those photos we took to the evidence board.”

“You’re fine, Steve. Take your time,” Coulson responds, giving him another polite smile.

Steve nods his thanks, stands up and takes Sam’s crumpled popcorn bag and chucks it into the wastebasket underneath his desk with a mock look of scolding while Sam chuckles, and then proceeds to walk the hundred or so yards to the door of the precinct so he can step outside into the warm air.

He dials Bucky as he walks, stepping outside and moving out of the way of the walking pedestrians on the sidewalk and leans up against the side of the building as his phone rings in his ear.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky voice sounds over the phone a moment later, and the sound of his voice has Steve grinning.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve replies. “You okay? Sam said you called earlier.”

Steve can hear rustling down the line, and it takes a few seconds before the sound of a door slams and Bucky replies, “Yeah, I’m fine, baby. I just wanted to call and tell you that I was going to be home a little later for dinner than I thought I would be.”

Steve’s heart sinks a little. “Oh,” he says, before he shakes his head. “That’s okay, Buck. You’re still probably going to get home before me.”

“I know, but I still wanted to let you know, just in case. I just got this old Harley in, and it’s going to take me most of the rest of today and tomorrow to fix it. I’ll be home an hour later than I normally would be, but dinner might not be completely ready yet when you get in tonight.”

Steve smiles. “That’s fine, baby. I don’t care to wait. I’ll even help if you’ll let me.”

“Maybe,” Bucky teases, and Steve’s insides fill with warmth at the affection in his voice. “I know you’re busy, and I didn’t want to bother you, but I texted you at first and then I called just a little while ago, and you didn’t answer. I know you’re busy, Detective,” Bucky repeats, and Steve knows he’s grinning wolfishly, “but it’s not like you to not answer your phone, and I got a little worried. So, I made the mistake of calling Sam to ask where you were. You guys are normally attached at the hip, so I figured you’d be with him. I couldn’t get him off the phone for nearly ten minutes after I’d called, though.”

“Sounds like Sam,” Steve chuckles, shaking his head fondly at his best friend’s antics.

“He went on and on about how long it’s been since we all came together and had a ‘family dinner’ even though we literally got together last weekend,” Bucky says exasperatedly.

Steve chuckles. “Sam loves you, Buck. And you love him. You both act like siblings, the way you fight and bicker all the time.”

Bucky murmurs and scoffs, but Steve can tell he’s still smiling. “If Sam says one more offensive werewolf joke to me, I’m going to strangle him with my claws.”

“Bucky!” Steve says, but there’s no real heat behind it. He still shouldn’t be saying things about his wolfy proclivities like that over the phone, though. “We’re going over to his place tomorrow, so you better prepare yourself.”

Bucky sighs deeply, like he’s dreading just the thought of the encounter, but Steve knows he’s not put-on. Privately, Steve knows that Bucky loves it when they all get together. As reclusive as Bucky is, he’s always happy to spend time with Sam whenever Sam asks, and Steve knows that Bucky enjoys all of the times the three of them spend together. Steve and Bucky spend almost all of their free time together, but Sam’s smiling face and positive attitude is always around, and both Bucky and Steve are always happy to have him there, even though Bucky will never admit to it.

Bucky sobers up quick as Steve chuckles at him, asking more seriously, “Am I taking you away from your important detective work?”

“Only a little,” Steve responds, but he doesn’t mean it. He can take a few minutes to talk to his boyfriend. The case, and all of the missing evidence they need to solve it, will still be there when he gets back.

“Sorry, Stevie,” Bucky replies, sounding actually authentic in his apology. Steve knows Bucky doesn’t like to distract him while he’s working.

“Don’t worry about it, Buck.” He glances back towards the doors of the precinct and sighs. “I guess I should be getting back, though. I’m still trying to get out of here early.”

“Okay, Stevie. I’ll see you tonight, baby. Stay safe, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and Steve’s heart melts. Bucky echoes different variations of the same thing whenever Steve leaves for work in the morning, or on rare occasions when they get to hold a conversation during the day — and they all mean the same thing: _Be safe, and come back to me in one piece._

Steve smiles again, and he knows he probably has a big goofy grin on his face, but he doesn’t care. “I will, Buck. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you soon,” Bucky says, and then hangs up a moment later with a click.

When Steve walks back inside, pocketing his phone with a private smile and a perk in his steps, he rounds the corner and sees Parker trying and failing to look authoritative as he places a manilla file on the top of Sam’s desk.

Coulson smiles at Steve politely when Steve sits back down, and Steve mutters a quiet _thank you_ and turns to Sam, who raises both of his eyebrows in silent question. Steve gives him a thumbs up, signaling that everything’s good and that Bucky is fine. Sam nods acceptingly and turns his attention to the file on his desk, looking down at it gleefully.

“Here’s your file, Detective,” Parker says, motioning to the file. Sam pulls his extra desk chair out for him and pats the cushioned part of the chair roughly. Parker sighs and sits down.

“The un-redacted version, yay!” Sam says, opening it. “Thanks man. This is _so_ much easier to read.” Steve rolls his eyes, but Sam just smirks and looks at Parker questioningly. "Why don’t you walk us through this?”

Parker leans against the desk with his forearms, nodding towards the file. “Four weeks ago, in Pakistan, a warehouse guard was killed trying to stop a raid on U.S. military supplies."

“With that same gun, the SH-IE7D?” Steve asks, tapping the picture of the Pakistani gun in the Banner file.

“Yes, according to the ballistics report,” Coulson fills in, nodding. He leans forward to get a better look at the file in Sam’s hand.

“So, when our ballistics guy ran the bullet through the military database, it raised a red flag on your end, right?” Sam asks, his joking mannerisms from a moment ago taking a back seat as he looks at the two agents with a frown. "That’s why you guys are here?”

“To be frank, it’s the only flag we’ve had,” Parker admits, rubbing his hands on his dress pants. He looks a little less tense, but his shoulders are still hunched together uncomfortably. "We never recovered any supplies in Pakistan, or found the shooter.”

“Who did the work up on this for you?” Steve asks, crossing his arms.

From his experience, trying to attempt forensic work in the middle of a war zone is shoddy at best. He’s even a little surprised that they even have a ballistics report from Pakistan that actually holds vital information. Normally, the impending fallout from a crime committed during wartime is overlooked when the enemy begins firing on those who are trying to solve it.

“Are you detectives familiar with the terms ‘battlefield forensics?’” Parker asks, pulling out his tablet. He taps on it a few times, then turns it around to show Sam, Steve, and Coulson pictures of a decrepit warehouse building. There’s Pakistani writing on the walls, and two armed soldiers are carrying away a third soldier on a gurney. The lifelessness in both of the living soldiers’ eyes tells Steve that it wasn’t anywhere close to an honorable death for their fallen comrade.

“That’s like processing a scene times one hundred, yeah?” Steve asks, sharing a quick glance with Sam. They’ve both definitely seen their fair share of crime scenes, stateside _and_ overseas. “Except people are dropping bombs on you and shooting at you when you’re trying to work the scene.”

“The scene in Pakistan was processed by operatives working for Hydra Logistics,” Coulson says, and Parker taps on his tablet again to show them more crime scene pictures.

“Hydra Logistics?” Sam asks, flipping through the file in his hands.

“They’re a U.S. military contractor,” Parker supplies, showing Sam a picture of the field operatives. One of the operatives is placing evidence markers on blood stained concrete while the other looks on.

“Yeah. They handle most of the law enforcement in our overseas operations,” Coulson says.

“As well as police training, supplies, transportation, artillery, food service — I mean, you name it and this company contracts it in foreign nations for our troops,” Parker adds, providing hand motions and vigorous movements of his head to indicate the complexity of the agency. Steve watches him, contemplating.

“Hydra, huh?” he mutters, scoffing. “As in The Hydra Cooperation? The one run by Alexander Pierce?”

Parker nods, but Sam balks.

“Alexander Pierce? The wealthiest man in New York City, _I-shit-gold-and-eat-puppies-for-breakfast-and-have-all-my-fingers-in-the-right-assholes_ Alexander Pierce?”

“I didn’t realize he was that important,” Coulson says, shrugging.

“And you guys think that those people at Hydra are the ones who stole your supplies?” Sam asks, eyeing both agents quizzically.

“I didn’t say that, technically — ” Parker starts, but Steve cuts him off, sharp but firm.

“No, you didn’t have to, though. I mean, if that gun was taken by an insurgent, it wouldn’t have ended up in New York.”

“But it did. You guys must be thinking it’s an inside job, right?” Sam finishes for him, tapping his knuckles twice on the desk before looking at Steve with a grin. He stretches a hand out to fist bump him, and Steve meets him with a roll of his eyes.

“There’s no evidence to support that at this time,” Coulson says calmly, but Steve knows the truth. The evidence is right in front of them, after all.

“Forget about _evidence_ ,” Steve says, waving a hand. Evidence isn’t going to help them right now, but it’ll be useful in wrapping up this case. What they need right now is a witness.

Parker looks down at his hands, clearly disagreeing with Coulson. Steve watches him for a moment, notices how he’s got a pinched look on his face and a downtrodden pull of his mouth. His body language is screaming that he wants to interject, to say something, but Coulson could be right. There really is no evidence to support their theory.

"What’s your gut telling you, kid?” Sam asks, and Parker’s eyes snap up to his. It hits Steve, then, how this hard and surly FBI agent who’s trying way too hard to prove himself really is just a _kid_ , desperate to uncover the truth, and in dire need of help to do so.

“It tells me that someone at Hydra could be behind all this, maybe even that Pierce guy,” Parker says, then sighs and rubs the back of his neck in frustration, “but I can’t accuse one of the FBI’s law enforcement partners of theft without having any evidence to back up that accusation, Detective.”

“No, you can’t,” Sam agrees, nodding.

“But we can at least talk to them, right?” Steve adds, prodding.

“I mean, there was a crime committed in Pakistan that has directly implicated a United States agency, Agents — we’d all just be doing our due diligence, don’t you think?” Sam smirks, glancing at Steve in amusement.

Coulson and Parker share a look, and Sam grins.

—

It’s nearing seven when Steve gets home that night. He’s in a good mood, happy that he’s made it home this early. It’s normally pushing nine or nine-thirty when he’s finally allowed to call it a night, and he gets home even later if he and Sam are in the thick of a case, or if he’s got to drop Sam off like he’s prone to do some nights.

He can hear Bucky cooking up their dinner in the kitchen, so he heads through their living room and pushes open the door.

The first thing he smells is garlic, and Bucky’s got something boiling on the stovetop next to him. Bucky turns around when he walks in, smiling widely. He looks soft and cozy, sporting a pair of old worn sweatpants and Steve can tell his hair is still damp from just getting out of the shower.

He’s also shirtless, and his skin glistens in the low light of the kitchen, reflecting small slivers of his pale skin when he moves in the moonlight.

Steve’s throat tightens.

“Hey, baby,” Bucky says, moving to the oven as it beeps, pulling out a baking sheet full of garlic bread. “How was work?”

Steve blinks, shaking himself out of his trance and walking around the island. He lets Bucky set the baking sheet down on a warming pad, then moves forward and kisses him.

“Hey,” Steve says when he pulls away, suddenly feeling a little breathless. “It was good.” He nuzzles his forehead against Bucky’s, letting Bucky pull him towards the warmth of his chest. “I missed you, though. Those last two hours today passed by so slowly.”

Bucky chuckles, kissing his forehead and inhaling, before he frowns. “You smell even more tired than you did last night.”

Steve nods, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Bucky further, relishing the constant overheated warmth of his body. “I _am_ tired. This case is just. . .complicated.”

Bucky hums disapprovingly, bringing up his hand to rest on the back of Steve’s neck, scenting him. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve exhales slowly. “There’s not a lot to talk about.” He shrugs. “And I can only tell you so much. The FBI’s working on it with us, though.”

“The FBI?” Bucky asks, thoughtful. “Must be an important case.”

Steve’s mind flashes back to Coulson, and a slight sliver of panic coils in his abdomen before he takes a calming breath and feels himself relax. He clears his throat, nodding. “It’s got the workings of being an inside job. They’re just trying to solve it as quickly as possible.”

Bucky nods, kissing Steve’s forehead again, before moving away to stir the contents of the boiling pot. Steve looks over, peeking inside, and sees it’s full of spaghetti noodles.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Steve leans over to watch Bucky cook for a few minutes. Bucky adds uncooked hamburger meat to an oiled pan and sets it on the adjacent stovetop next to the boiling pot, before turning around and adding tomato sauce once it starts cooking properly.

“How was your day, Buck?” Steve asks him, moving to rub the soft skin between Bucky’s shoulder blades.

“Busy,” Bucky responds, shrugging. “I felt like I was away from you forever today. It was kind of making my wolf anxious.”

“Really?” Steve asks, running a knuckle down Bucky’s spine. Bucky shifts, shivering. “I kind of felt like that, too, but it was more like I was just really impatient to get to you. It started right after you called me.”

“I didn’t mean to distract you when you were already really busy,” Bucky says, leaning back into Steve as he continues to stir the meat around the pan. Steve runs his hands slowly down Bucky’s sides, resting them just above the waistband of the sweatpants he’s wearing, rubbing his thumbs into the jut of his hip bones, and Bucky relaxes against him, grinning.

“I’m never too busy for you,” Steve says, leaning forward so he can run his lips over the warm skin of the back of Bucky’s neck. It makes Bucky hitch in his breathing, and he lets out a small, content sound deep in his throat.

“You keep doing that and I’ll burn our dinner,” Bucky says, and Steve just smiles against his skin, placing kisses down the middle of his shoulder blades. His hands continue to rub tenderly over Bucky’s lower torso, massaging at the base of his spine.

Bucky exhales slowly, his voice dropping in octave. “You’re distracting me, Stevie.”

Steve just kisses up the center of the back of Bucky’s neck, making a sound of disagreement. He works his way around Bucky’s neck, before sucking just below his right ear, biting down gently.

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, and he groans lowly. “ _Fuck,_ Steve. You know I can’t _think_ when you do that.”

Steve hums his agreement, kissing to the other side of Bucky’s neck, and bites down tenderly on his pulse point.

Bucky makes another noise in his throat, shifting his hips slightly. He shakes his head as he stirs the hamburger meat around the pan and says quietly, “Are you trying to make me ruin our dinner? Because if you keep doing that, I’m going to burn this meat, and you’re going to get mad at me when all you get to eat for dinner is soggy spaghetti noodles and cold bread.”

Steve huffs a laugh behind him, running his lips over the shell of Bucky’s ear. “So, my attempts at seduction aren’t working, then?”

Bucky’s breath stutters in his chest, and his hips keen forward as he leans further against Steve. “No, they’re _definitely_ working,” he says, his voice slightly strained. Steve grins, pressing a kiss to the warm skin underneath Bucky’s ear. “But you’re exhausted, baby. I know how tired you are. I’m almost done with this, and then we can eat and go to bed. You’ve got to catch up on some sleeping, sweetheart.”

Steve purses his lips, pretending to think for a moment. After a few seconds he asks seriously, “Will you cuddle with me until I pass out from exhaustion?”

Bucky turns his head around to look at Steve and gives him a wide grin before he chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, baby.”

“And will you rub my back?”

Bucky’s grin widens as his eyes glint affectionately. “Of course,” he says, mock serious as he nods again.

“Okay, then,” Steve agrees, giving a decisive nod. “I’m willing to compromise.”

Bucky chuckles, dropping the wooden spoon he was using to stir the meat and turns around in Steve’s arms, running his fingertips over Steve’s sides. “Sounds like a deal,” he says, tilting his head down slightly so he can press their lips together. The kiss is soft and unhurried, and every part of Steve completely relaxes as he melts against Bucky’s chest.

“Okay, Buck,” Steve replies when they break apart, a blush beginning to color his cheeks as he gently pulls away from Bucky. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need help with anything?”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling fondly. “Nope. I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” Steve replies, nodding again. “I’m going to go take a quick shower. You’re right,” he admits sheepishly. “I feel like I’m about ready to pass out.”

Bucky nods at him, his expression turning slightly stoic.

“Okay, Stevie,” he says. “I’ll have dinner ready when you get out. It’ll be good, I promise.”

Steve chuckles at him, moving to kiss Bucky’s cheek as Bucky turns back towards the stove. “I don’t doubt it, Buck.”

Steve moves to pull away, but Bucky stops him gently, reaching out to gently grasp Steve’s hand. “I — um. . .” he trails off, hesitant as he frowns.

“What, baby?” Steve asks him softly, moving to entwine their fingers together.

Bucky’s not the best at expressing how he feels sometimes, even though they’re both very open and communicative with each other. It sometimes takes him longer to explain what he’s feeling, for him to sort through the emotions in his head, but Steve just always patiently waits for him to gather his thoughts and find the words. He’ll never push it when Bucky’s trying as hard as he is to be open and vulnerable in ways he sometimes isn’t.

Bucky hesitates again before he speaks, his expression slightly withdrawn. “I want to apologize to you.”

Steve stares back at him, momentarily confused as he rubs over the skin of Bucky’s wrist with his thumb. “What for?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs slightly, his stoic expression deepening. “I know I’ve been. . .” he pauses, searching for the words. “I haven’t been in control of myself, and I’ve been a real asshole lately. Whatever’s going on with me isn’t an excuse for me to treat you like I did last night. It’s not okay for me to get upset with you when you’re just doing your job. It’s not okay for me to lash out at you. I haven’t been. . .” Another pause. “ _Supportive_ of you and your detective work lately and I’m sorry for that. I’ll always support you in everything you do. We just. . .haven’t spent a lot of time together lately. And I’m still really sorry about our fight last night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Buck,” Steve tells him, shaking his head. “I know you’ve been on edge lately, and I know that things have been a little chaotic. I appreciate you apologizing to me, but you really don’t need to, baby. I know you don’t like how demanding my job can be sometimes. I don’t fault you for that.” Bucky smiles a closed-lipped smile down at him softly. “Don’t be sorry about anything. I’ve missed you, too, you know. I don’t like not being able to spend time with you, either.”

Bucky’s face heats up in embarrassment slightly, caught out. He chuckles sheepishly at Steve’s words, giving him a slightly bashful smile. Steve grins widely at him, leaning forward and bringing their lips together.

“I love you, grumpy,” Steve says tenderly as he pulls back, “and I hate that we haven’t been able to spend time together. I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m too busy for you.”

“I don’t,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “My wolf just. . .”

“I know,” Steve replies softly.

“I love you, too,” Bucky tells him, kissing the side of Steve’s head. “Now go take your shower, you sap.”

Steve laughs at him as he pulls completely away, giving him a small grin as he disappears behind the kitchen door.

Dinner that night is still amazing. The noodles are a little too soft, the homemade garlic bread is cold, and the meat might be a touch overcooked, but it’s still one of the best meals Steve’s ever had.

They talk quietly as they eat, and before too long, they’re both finished in record time.

Steve puts his plate into the sink, accepting Bucky’s a second later and placing it into the sink as well before he gets the water running on the other side of the basin, putting his hand underneath the stream to feel for when it gets warm.

Bucky’s arms loop around him from behind, and he rests his chin on top of Steve’s clothed shoulder, muttering quietly, “Can this wait until tomorrow, baby? We need to get you to bed.”

Steve hums. “If I don’t do them now, I’ll have to wait to do them until tomorrow night, Buck.”

Bucky huffs behind him, tightening his grip around Steve’s waist. “I can wash the dishes in the morning before I leave. I promise they’ll be done before you get home.”

Steve turns around, raising an eyebrow, but Bucky just looks back at him with a stern look, clearly not willing to budge in his argument.

Steve rolls his eyes, sighing, but shuts the water off and turns to mockingly warn him, “As long as you promise.”

“I promise,” Bucky smiles, moving to take Steve’s hand and pull him gently from the kitchen. Steve follows after him, chuckling, but lets himself be manhandled through their apartment and into their bedroom.

Once they’re both settled into bed, and Bucky’s arms have moved around Steve and he’s cuddling into him just like Steve had asked, Steve can’t help the way his mind drifts back to the Banner case again, and more specifically, the agents who are working on it. Coulson’s face flashes in his head once more, and he sighs.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Bucky asks behind him, running his nose over the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve briefly wonders if he should shrug off Bucky’s concern. He doesn’t really want to think much more about anything related to Phil Coulson tonight, and he doesn’t really want to talk about it. His time spent in Afghanistan is irrelevant to him now. It doesn’t matter anymore. But he knows that he should probably tell Bucky. He doesn’t like to keep things from Bucky, and he knows that Bucky cares about him. He’s not going to make Steve talk about anything Steve doesn’t want to talk about.

Steve turns around in Bucky’s arms and sighs again. Bucky settles his left arm more tightly around Steve’s waist and brings his right hand up to gently run his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. He doesn’t say anything as he waits for Steve to speak, just gazes into Steve’s eyes with a slight frown.

“Do you remember that case we were talking about earlier? The one I just got on?”

Bucky hums, nodding.

Steve waits for a beat, debating once more, before he says quietly, “One of the agents on the case is Phil Coulson.”

Bucky looks stumped for a second, clearly trying to put a face to the name, and Steve can practically see the cogs turning in Bucky’s head when he works it out. After a split second, his eyes turn sharp, and he bites out, “The guy from the Department of Defense? _That_ Phil Coulson?”

Steve nods, but Bucky continues.

“The guy who almost _left you_ _in the desert_ to save his own _ass_ — ”

“Buck,” Steve says softly, moving to place a comforting hand on his cheek to get him to stop. Bucky doesn’t need to be getting worked up over something as irrelevant as this, especially when he hasn’t been completely in control of himself lately. He only knows so much about Steve’s time in Afghanistan, but he knows pretty much all of the bad parts because Steve has felt comfortable enough over the years they’ve been together to tell him. Bucky knows how much Steve dislikes talking about his old war days, but _Steve_ knows that Bucky can’t stop himself from feeling angry at what Steve’s just told him.

Bucky just exhales sharply out of his nostrils, shaking his head to dispel the anger that information had brought to him. “Are you okay with that? I mean, the guy really did fuck you over, Steve.”

Steve sighs heavily, rubbing his thumb along Bucky’s jawline. “I know. He’s actually a pretty polite and nice guy, and he works for the FBI now. He just kind of kicked up some old memories for me.”

Bucky shuffles closer, tightening his grip around Steve and nodding. He waits again for Steve to continue, but Steve doesn’t talk again for a few minutes.

“He even addressed me as Captain today,” Steve admits, sighing again. “I haven’t been addressed as that in _years_ , Buck.”

A low growl sounds in Bucky’s throat, and Steve strokes his cheekbone again, trying to reassure him. Bucky’s clearly as dissatisfied with this arrangement as Steve is, and he doesn’t like that it’s making Steve upset.

“Does Sam know?” Bucky asks a couple of silent beats later.

Steve shakes his head. “No. Coulson’s probably not going to be around for long, even if this case does end up going longer than normal. No use in dragging Sam into anything.”

Bucky makes a noise of disapproval, frowning as he says tentatively, “He’s your best friend, Steve. He cares about you.”

Steve yawns, nodding. “I know, Buck, but this all isn’t really that big of a deal. Coulson’s actually not a bad person, and he won’t be around for longer than he needs to be for this case.”

“Okay, Stevie,” Bucky agrees, shifting so Steve can lay his head on his chest. Steve can tell Bucky wants to say more, but he also knows that Bucky knows how tired he is, and this conversation can wait until Steve’s had some proper sleep.

“Goodnight, Buck,” Steve says, moving his head to kiss the center of Bucky’s sternum. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, baby,” Bucky echoes, kissing the top of Steve’s head and settling in. “I love you, too.”

Steve smiles, nuzzling his head further into Bucky’s chest.

He’s asleep moments later, drifting to the feel of Bucky’s hands softly running over his back.

What feels like only minutes later, however, Steve’s startling awake, his heart racing.

He looks to the source of what’s woken him up blearily, blinking rapidly to get his eyes to adjust in the darkness. Bucky’s sitting up on his side of the bed, elbows resting on his knees while his head rests in his hands. He’s panting heavily into the silent air of their bedroom, his entire body shaking with the force of his breaths.

“Buck?” Steve asks sleepily, reaching out his hand to comfortingly rub at Bucky’s right shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Bucky exhales loudly, still breathing heavily. He runs his hands over his face back and forth, rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t look back over at Steve when he answers, “I’m fine, Steve. Go back to sleep.”

Steve watches him, takes in Bucky’s hunched shoulders and stiff body language. He’s clearly had a nightmare, and Steve’s brow furrows in concern when he just continues to inhale and exhale sharply, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Bucky — ” Steve starts, moving to sit up fully, trying to soothe his obviously distressed boyfriend.

Bucky moves and stands up abruptly, and Steve’s hand drops back down jarringly onto the mattress. Bucky runs a hand through his hair quickly and turns his head side to side, like he’s trying to shake himself into breathing normally. His back is to Steve, and Steve can see the way the long muscles of his backside are bunched up uncomfortably tight against his pale skin, and he looks only a few short breaths away from fully hyperventilating.

Steve sits up fully on the bed, eyes carefully watching Bucky as he tries to assess whether or not Bucky’s slipping into a panic attack. Bucky takes another shuddering breath and exhales sharply.

“I’m okay,” he repeats, tilting his head to the side to address his words to Steve but still doesn’t look at him. “I’m just going to go get a glass of water. Go back to sleep.”

He turns and heads towards their bedroom door, opening it quickly and disappearing through it just as fast, closing it a tad harshly behind himself.

Steve watches him go sullenly, staring remorsefully at the closed door as his heart beats loudly in the empty space of their bedroom. He falls back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan as he runs a hand through his hair and sighs deeply, wondering how he missed the signs that Bucky was going to have a bad night.

Bucky doesn’t get like this often. In the time Steve’s known him, he’s only ever had a handful of nightmares like these, where they shock him straight down to his core, paralyzing him in fear, and then he’s suddenly sixteen again, watching his entire family be slaughtered in front of him.

The nightmares get worse when it’s close to the anniversary of their deaths or the full moon, where Bucky’s adrenaline is high and he’s more emotional and restless. Their anniversary isn’t for at least six more months, but the full moon is only a week and a half away, and Steve _doesn’t know where he missed the signs._

Steve can tell almost immediately when Bucky’s going to have a bad night. He gets more defensive, even more broody than he normally is. He’s somewhat harsh and dissonant, snapping at Steve and apologizing immediately afterwards, making hurt noises in the back of his throat that he tries to hide with his usual growls, only they sound hollow and standoffish. There’s always a pinched look on his face, like he’s uncomfortable and volatile but can’t make himself relax.

 _He wasn’t like that at all tonight_ , Steve’s mind supplies for him, but the thought just makes him feel even more unsettled.

When Steve knows that Bucky’s on the verge of having a bad night, he gets a lot more affectionate and encourages Bucky do the things that calm his wolf, like laying a possessive hand on the back of Steve’s neck, or letting Bucky sprawl on top of him to spread his scent over Steve’s entire body because it relaxes his wolf when Steve smells like him, even though he’s heavy and the bulk of him weighs Steve down and gets him clamming up quickly because of how hot Bucky’s body heat is.

It’s not enough to ward Bucky of an oncoming nightmare, but it’s usually enough to get him to be a little more calm when he’s suddenly jerking awake, blinking rapidly into the darkness of their bedroom and panting as Steve rubs soothingly at his back.

Steve hates it when this happens. He hates that he can’t take Bucky’s pain away, that he can’t somehow take all of that torment and anguish away so that Bucky never hurts from those horrible memories again. He hates that Bucky witnessed something as traumatic as he did and had to cope with the sudden death of his family completely by himself. It kills Steve that he’s not able to provide Bucky with more comfort than trying to get him to work through the nightmare so he can try to get back to sleep, even though Bucky typically just ends up staring blankly out of the living room windows well into the early morning sun while Steve stays up with him, whispering soothing and comforting words into his ear and rubbing his back.

Another sigh heaves itself past Steve’s lips.

He always comforts Bucky when these nightmares happen, however irregular they may be. Steve always gives him a few minutes to himself so he can calm himself down, to make himself realize that he’s safe and protected and _awake_. Steve knows better than anyone how distressing it can be to wake up from a nightmare and start to feel panicked when someone immediately tries to provide comfort. It can sometimes do more harm than good if he tries to touch Bucky before Bucky is ready for that touch.

After a couple of minutes have passed, however, he can’t quell his worry anymore. He’s up and out of the bed a moment later, wrapping his arms around himself to try and warm his cold and tumultuous insides.

Bucky’s leaning against the sink when Steve enters the kitchen, hands gripping the counter as his head lolls forward. There’s tension in his shoulders, and Steve can tell from the way he’s standing that Bucky’s holding himself against the counter with rigidity and agitation, the muscles of his back straining against his pale skin. There’s a glass of water next to his left hand, and Steve can see there’s another broken glass off to the other side of the sink.

He walks up to Bucky slowly, giving him plenty of time to tell Steve to stop, before he wraps his arms around the warmth of Bucky’s constant overheated skin, leaning his head down to rest against the top of Bucky’s spine as Bucky tenses further at his touch.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath a second later, relaxing minutely back into Steve’s arms. His entire body is trembling.

Bucky normally wants Steve to touch him after he’s had a nightmare like this, needing the touch to remind himself that he’s awake, to steady him, but there’s also been times where Bucky’s flinched away from Steve’s hands, and it breaks Steve’s heart in two every time, regardless of whether he wants to be pulled in close or be left alone.

It’s silent for a while, the buzzing of the refrigerator and Bucky’s shaky inhales and exhales the only sound in the empty space. Steve can feel Bucky’s pulse racing from where he's leaning forward against Bucky’s back. Steve just tightens his arms around Bucky’s waist, waiting, trying to soothe Bucky’s erratic heart any way he can.

“I can’t breathe,” Bucky says into the silence shakily after a few more minutes pass, his breaths uneven and scattered as he tries and fails to inhale deeply. He’s hyperventilating, Steve realizes. He can’t tell from where Bucky’s face is facing away from him, but he knows Bucky’s eyes are probably wild and wide-eyed. His skin is clammy and there’s sweat breaking out across the back of his neck. He’s definitely having a panic attack.

Steve removes his arms immediately, taking a small step away from Bucky.

He moves his hands to Bucky’s back, gently trying to turn him around. Bucky goes with him, turning around with jerky movements. Steve’s heart drops at the look on his face, so haunted and scared and panicked. He immediately starts pulling Bucky towards the island, pushing him down onto one of the stools.

“You’re okay, Bucky,” Steve says, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. He pushes at Bucky’s back, and Bucky leans forward, trying to take a deep breath. Steve moves Bucky’s hair out of his face as he rubs his other hand over Bucky’s back in slow circles. Bucky hangs his head in between his knees, balling his hands into fists behind his calves.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” Steve continues, his voice soft and gentle. “Can you take a deep breath for me? I know you can do it, Buck.”

Bucky inhales sharply, but he releases the air in his lungs slowly, and Steve runs his fingers over Bucky’s shoulder blades encouragingly. “There you go, baby. You’re okay. Take another breath for me. You’re alright.”

Bucky continues to take deep breaths, and each one becomes more and more level as he tries to purposefully slow his breathing. Steve would give anything to see Bucky’s face, to hug him, but Bucky needs this right now, needs Steve to help him through this.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Keep breathing just like that. You’re safe. You can get through this, baby. I’m so proud of you,” Steve tells him quietly, and Bucky nods at him, keeping his head between his knees as he inhales and exhales deeply.

After a few moments, Bucky’s breathing evens out and he slowly starts to relax against Steve’s hands. Steve presses a soft kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck as Bucky sighs, relaxing his hands and bringing them up to rub at his eyes. He sits up slowly, his face blank as he continues to take deep breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few seconds, blindly reaching for Steve’s hand. Steve entwines their fingers together quickly, pressing another kiss to the top of Bucky’s knuckles.

“Shh, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry for. It's okay. You’re okay.”

Bucky nods again, still avoiding Steve’s eyes, and exhales sharply. He stands up harshly and starts walking towards the sink. Steve follows him, tightening his fingers in between Bucky’s.

Bucky looks straight out of the window once he settles in front of the sink, releasing Steve’s hand and clenching his hands into fists as he braces himself against the counter. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist tentatively.

It’s silent for a few minutes after that. Steve focuses on the sounds of Bucky’s breathing as he rests his head against the back of Bucky’s neck, waiting.

“I broke a glass,” Bucky says jarringly after another minute passes. He’s quiet, stoic in Steve’s embrace.

Steve places a gentle kiss at the base of Bucky’s neck. He pulls his head up, saying quietly, “That’s okay, Buck. We have plenty of glasses.”

Bucky nods slowly, staring steadfast out of the kitchen window, before he moves to grab his glass, taking a long sip of the water inside.

He puts the glass back down, exhaling harshly.

“I cut my hand,” he says, and Steve can hear the tension in his voice, how his breathing is starting to tremble again.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, moving to glance at Bucky’s hands, but he doesn’t expect to see any evidence of the cut on either of his palms.

Bucky nods again, replying, “It’s already healed.”

The lapse into silence again, but Steve just continues to wait Bucky out. It’s better to be patient than to try and push him at times like these.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Bucky says after a few seconds, apologetic and guttural. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“That doesn’t matter, baby,” Steve says, rubbing his thumbs into Bucky’s stomach reassuringly.

“Yes, it does,” Bucky replies, and he sounds _pitiful_. “I know how exhausted you are, and you need to sleep. But I’m such a fucking _mess_ ,” he bites the words out, growling, “and I’m keeping you up.”

“Baby,” Steve whispers, kissing Bucky’s left shoulder blade, “you’re not a mess. You’ve had a bad nightmare, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head sharply and growling, “Yeah, a bad nightmare.”

Steve makes a face and flinches at the harshness of his words, but it’s really his own fault. _Bad_ doesn’t even begin to describe Bucky’s nightmares.

He kisses Bucky’s opposite shoulder in apology, quietly asking, “Do you want to talk about it, baby?”

Bucky tenses again, and the tautness of his body makes him look even more like the threatening and menacing Alpha werewolf he can be, even though his eyes are still fixed forward and sad, glistening forlornly in the moonlight.

He’s quiet before he forces his body to relax, and he says slowly, “It was the same one I always have.”

Steve’s silent behind him, waiting.

“They killed you right in front of me,” Bucky says, and his voice cracks before he inhales sharply. “I had to watch my entire family be burned alive right in front of me, and then they brought you out, beaten and bloody, and killed you before I could stop them.”

Steve’s heart races in his chest. He knows Bucky has recurring nightmares about his family’s deaths, but Steve doesn’t normally appear in any of them. It makes his lungs ache in consolation.

“I didn’t know you had nightmares about me, Buck,” Steve says, can’t voice any of what he wants to say over the tightness in his throat.

“Not _about_ you,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “About them _taking you_ from me.”

Steve feels dread curl in his chest, and then he’s immediately understanding, tightening his arms around Bucky’s waist hastily.

“I’m right here, Buck,” he says, pulse racing in his ears. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. No one is going take me away from you.”

“I’d kill anyone who’d try,” Bucky growls, moving his arms to rest over Steve’s. “I’d rip their throat out.”

“You won’t ever need too, sweetheart,” Steve assures him, kissing the side of Bucky’s neck. He can feel the tension draining from him, leaching out of his muscles with every inhale and exhale. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”

Bucky turns around in Steve’s arms, brings his own up to wrap around Steve, and buries his face in Steve’s throat, inhaling deeply. His lips run over Steve’s pulse point, letting the quick but steady thrum of his pulse calm his own erratic heart.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mutters against Steve’s neck, kissing the skin below his mouth. “I’m sorry I’m a mess, and I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Steve brings a hand up to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Don’t worry about that, Buck. I’m perfectly content to stand here with you. It’s nice to hold _you_ for a change.”

Bucky’s nightmares are the only thing Steve doesn’t push him to talk about, especially not when the images of his family’s murder are still fresh in his mind like this. Letting Bucky deflect and try to apologize to Steve for waking him up like he always does when these nightmares happen is a way that he calms himself down, no matter how much Steve hates it. He knows Bucky can’t talk about it right now, can’t talk about what he’s feeling, and Steve will never push him to do it. Steve can only try to comfort him, let his scent cling to Bucky’s senses, and be that soothing presence for him.

Steve can feel Bucky grin against his neck, still shaken up but grounding himself gradually as the seconds pass. Steve presses a kiss into his hair, feeling Bucky grip the back of the cotton t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Thank you,” he hears Bucky say quietly after another pregnant pause, inhaling deeply so Steve’s calming and steady scent can overwhelm his senses. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s hair again.

Steve’s not sure how much longer they stay like that, content in each other’s arms for minutes or hours, but Bucky pulls away slowly sometime later, kissing Steve deeply, before pulling him back to their bedroom.

He doesn’t remember falling into bed, but when he feels Bucky’s arms circle around his waist, pulling Steve’s body into the warmth of his chest, he settles into the mattress, feeling warm and safe.

Steve’s falling into a deep sleep only a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky and Steve just can't catch a break, can they?
> 
> I don't feel as though this chapter is very good, but I promise this story gets better! Something big is coming! Stay tuned for the next chapter! See you in a few days!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I'm back again with chapter 6! I just wanted to quickly say that all of you are amazing and I am so floored by the response to this story! Thank you guys for continuing to read and give me kudos. I love reading all of your comments. Sometimes I feel like maybe this story isn't very good and I don't know why I'm posting it, but reading your comments always makes me feel good about what I've written.
> 
> I would also like to point out that although this story is set in Brooklyn, New York, I have never been to the State of New York. All of the street names, places, and buildings are things I've had to look up on Google Maps, so I am so sorry if I've gotten my information mixed up or if all of the stuff I've written is wrong. I am also aware that you probably can't own a cabin in Prospect Park, but just go with it :)
> 
> I've also updated some of the tags, so make sure you're looking through those to make your reading experience enjoyable and safe. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

_“I fear not the dark itself, but what may lurk within it.” — Unknown_

“The ink you saw on the victim’s body _is_ actually a tattoo,” Sharon confirms that next evening, moving around the steel slab in her lab to lift up the sheet covering Bruce’s left bicep, showing the mangled skin to both Steve and Sam. “Sadly, it’s mangled beyond recognition.”

“On purpose, right?” Sam asks, bending down to get a better look at the deep lacerations etched into the section of Bruce’s skin. “I mean, look at the rest of these scratches on his body. The vulture nips couldn’t have done this.”

Sharon nods, moving to show them more scratches on Bruce’s neck. “The skin here is pulled, probably from where the talons were dug in. The cuts over here, though,” she motions to the tattoo, “are clean, like they were made from a blade of some sorts. Or,” she picks up a small evidence cylinder, “a shattered beer bottle. I pulled this out of the lacerations.”

She shakes the cylinder, and the tiny shards inside jingle loudly in the room.

Steve shakes his head, looking back at the piece of the tattooed flesh on the tray in front of them. “The killer wanted to obscure this tattoo.”

“Mission accomplished,” Sam snarks, flailing his hand to motion dramatically at the markings. “We can’t tell what it is now.”

“Not in its current state,” Sharon says, and both Steve and Sam look up at her. She smiles smugly, shaking the cylinder again. “That’s the thing about tattoos, though. You better be sure about getting one, because they last forever.”

“You got a secret tattoo on your ass that we don’t know about, Sharon?” Sam asks, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Steve rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn pink, a little uncomfortable with discussing such private and definitely unprofessional information.

Sharon’s smirk widens, but she doesn’t elaborate. Sam’s eyes widen, and he whoops and hollers, shoving his fist into the air.

“Anyway,” Steve says, trying not to flush deeper, “how does this tattoo help us?”

Sharon smiles, turning to Steve and moving a stray piece of her hair out of her face. “Since I’m awesome, I’ve already analyzed the tattoo.”

“Analyzed?” Steve asks, confused. “How?”

“Well, normally, the type of equipment I have only lets me analyze worn or altered paper to isolate one part of the color spectrum at a time. Luckily for you, I’m not above going about things the hard way,” Sharon replies, setting the cylinder down.

Sam looks at the strip of flesh, eyebrows furrowed, before realization dawns on his face. He looks at Sharon, a horrified grimace curling at his mouth, and says, “You put this thing in one of your machines?”

“Yep,” Sharon nods, smiling widely. “A tattoo’s ink goes down to the dermis, right?” When Steve nods and Sam continues to look at her, green around the edges of his forehead, Sharon shrugs nonchalantly, “I just adjusted the machine to look for different ink colors.”

“And then you could pull out the tattoo fragments one color at a time,” Steve finishes for her, and she gives him a blinding smile, nodding enthusiastically.

“It took a little luck and a lot of computer enhancement,” Sharon says, turning around and grabbing a piece of paper, laying it down in front of Steve, “but this eagle has finally landed.”

“That was cheesy,” Steve says, offhand, pulling the paper towards him so he can get a better look. The tattoo itself has little color, just in the green hues of a banner below the eagle's beak and a yellow tinge to the three numbers inside it, but the wings and its head are colorless, and the entire thing is probably no bigger than Steve’s fist.

“It’s military,” Sharon notes.

“It’s a skeleton with a beret,” Steve says. “It’s definitely military. The bird’s airborne.”

“What’s this five hundred and thirty-two?” Sam asks, tracing over the numbers on the green banner with his pointer finger.

“Five hundred and thirty-second division,” Steve replies.

“So, the killer carved out this tattoo with the beer bottle. Why?” Sam says, moving his hands on his hips. “You think he had something to hide?”

“Maybe he had the same tattoo,” Steve counters, looking up from the paper to glance at Sharon. “Same division, a brother in arms. Someone you’d share a beer with.”

“Gotcha, Detective,” Sharon smiles, grabbing the paper. “I’ll run it through an image search engine. See if I can dig up anyone who’s got the same ink.”

“You’re the best, player,” Sam says, high fiving her. She laughs, shooing them out of her lab.

They’re barely out of the door of the lab when Sam turns to him, arching an eyebrow. “You look like a dead man walking, dude. You’ve been sluggish all day. What’s up with you?”

Steve sighs, running a hand down his face. “Bucky had a nightmare last night,” he says, and Sam immediately frowns. “I don’t know what time we ended up getting back to sleep last night, but it had to have been really late. I’m just really tired. And I don’t even think Bucky slept at all.”

“That sucks, man. Is Bucky okay?” Sam asks sympathetically. He knows well enough how bad Bucky’s nightmares are.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, I hope so. I got him calmed down last night, and he seemed a little out of it this morning and looked awful, but he was otherwise okay when I left. He kept apologizing last night for keeping me up. He says he doesn’t like how tired I smell.”

“Was it the same nightmare he’s been having since you met him?” Sam asks as they climb up the stairs to the main level.

“At first, I think. Then he said he was forced to watch those people who killed his family kill me, too.”

“Aw, man,” Steve whistles lowly, grimacing. “That’s awful. He was pretty torn up then, huh?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. We’d had a good night up until he woke up trembling. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that he was going to have one last night, but he hasn’t had a nightmare like that in months, Sam. It was. . .not good.”

“I hate it for him,” Sam says, shaking his head. “And I hate that you’re not sleeping.”

Steve mimics Sam’s head motions. “I know. It breaks my heart to see Bucky so shaken like that. Don’t worry about me, though, Sam. We’ve just gotta get this case solved, and then I’ll be able to catch up on my sleeping.”

“I hope it’s soon, man,” Sam sighs, stepping into the lobby of the precinct, turning towards their desks. “I’m already sick of this case.”

Steve nods his agreement, huffing.

When they round the corner, Steve sees Natasha standing by their desks, clearly waiting on the both of them. Her shoulders are heavy with tension, and she’s biting the inside of her cheek impatiently.

She rounds on them immediately when they get close enough.

“We’ve got company,” she says harshly, keeping her voice low.

“Is it more feds?” Sam whines, looking around petulantly. “What’s worse than the feds?”

“Alexander Pierce is in my office,” Natasha bites out, frowning as she sighs.

Steve and Sam both look at her sharply, and she raises her eyebrows as if to say _Yeah,_ _that’s exactly my point_.

“Why did he come all the way down here?” Steve asks, glancing towards the door of Natasha’s office. The blinds are drawn, so he can’t see who’s lurking behind the ominous shades.

“To defend his company, I guess. I didn’t think the most powerful man in New York City would come down to a _police station_ when we requested for someone to meet with us on behalf of Hydra Logistics,” Natasha sighs. “If this gets out to the press, this place will be swarming with reporters before the ten o’clock news.”

“It won’t get out, Nat,” Sam says with certainty. “We’ll just interview him like normal. He’s not a suspect or anything. Just someone we need information from.”

“Are Coulson and Parker around?” Steve asks, glancing around the rest of the precinct in search of the two agents. “They’ll want to be in there with us while we interview him.”

“They’re already in there with him,” Natasha replies, whipping around and heading towards her office.

Steve glances at Sam, giving him a slight wide-eyed look, before they both follow after her towards the far side of the precinct.

When they walk through the door of Natasha’s office, Alexander Pierce’s cold and calculating eyes immediately greet them, and he’s got a smirk already curling at his lips.

Coulson looks mildly intrigued as Pierce just continues to stare at the two detectives, and Parker looks absolutely terrified from his place next to Natasha’s desk.

Natasha takes a seat in her desk chair, resting her hands on top of the wood, locking them together and smiling politely, if a little strained. She looks at Pierce without any ounce of trepidation in her gaze as she studies him.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Pierce. I have to say that when we asked to speak with a representative of Hydra, I didn’t expect the CEO to be the one dropping into my office,” she says, narrowing her eyes even as she keeps her voice steady and professional. She’s clearly trying to gauge his reactions, and judging by the way his face tightens in slight disdain, Steve would guess he doesn’t entirely appreciate being questioned by the only female in the room.

Pierce looks at her, a scrupulous curl to his mouth. He methodically tilts his head, assessing her, before saying coolly, “I take my job seriously, Lieutenant Romanoff, and my job, above all, is to serve my country. So, whatever you need to know to help solve your case, I want you and your team to have it.”

“Very much appreciated, sir,” Natasha says. “These are Special Agents Coulson and Parker with the FBI.” She motions to the two agents, and then nods her head towards Sam and Steve. “And these are my Detectives Wilson and Rogers. We just have a few questions for you."

Natasha turns to Parker, who gulps slowly and looks at Pierce carefully. Pierce smirks. “Mr. Pierce, your Battlefield Forensics Team processed a crime scene in Pakistan where a heavy duty artillery weapon was implicated. And then, that same weapon showed up stateside, a few nights ago in this mysterious homicide. Do you have any idea how that might have happened?”

“I can’t speak to the scene here, Agent, but I read my guys’ report on my plane,” Pierce says, bringing his hand up to lean his chin against his palm. "Seemed pretty straightforward. Insurgent raid, right?”

“What about your men over there?” Natasha asks, narrowing her eyes.

“You know them well? You trust them?” Sam finishes for her, crossing his arms.

“I run a tight ship, Detective,” Pierce replies, eyeing Sam with disdain. "I hire only the best, and only after members of my team pass excessive background checks. In fact, I’ve had to say no to police,” a glance back to Natasha, then Parker, who tries not to cower, “and even FBI agents.”

“Yeah, but it’s like _The Hurt Locker_ over there, right? Very _Zero Dark Thirty_ , yeah?” Sam asks, shrugging nonchalantly. Pierce gives him a haughty look.

“It’s a war zone,” Steve interjects, giving Pierce a calculating once-over of his own. “Rules go flying out the window over there. Any chance somebody did something they weren’t supposed to do?”

“What are you saying, exactly, Detective Rogers?” Pierce asks, bringing his hands down to interlock them, staring coldly up at Steve.

“It must be very tempting, that’s all,” Steve shrugs. "You know, your people have a certain window of time where they can do as they please, take anything they want. Like those guns, for example. And they certainly have unlimited resources to cart them anywhere they want in the world.”

“My people do exactly what yours do, Detective,” Pierce says sternly, his eyes narrowing, "but without the luxury of time or security.”

“Let me go back a second here,” Steve says, holding back a scoff. His blood thrums with anger. "Didn’t you just say you read the report on your plane?”

Pierce eyes him, not breaking eye contact.

Steve smiles a patronizing smile. “It’s kind of hard for me to get a lecture on luxury from somebody who just used the words ‘I read it on my plane,’ you know? It muddles things, that’s all.”

“Then let me be completely clear,” Pierce says shrewdly, leaning forward.

“Yeah, please,” Steve replies, making a motion with his hand in the air as he smiles pleasantly. Pierce scowls.

“The sort of corruption you’re implying is neither encouraged, nor tolerated, at Hydra,” Pierce says, smiling dauntingly. "Clear?”

“Crystal,” Sam interjects, smiling a wide sarcastic grin. Pierce gives him another derisive look, scoffing.

“If we’re done here,” Pierce says unkindly, moving to stand.

“Of course, sir,” Natasha replies, giving him a cavalier grin. “I’ll need you to sign some papers, here.”

Pierce scoffs again, but accepts the pen she hands him, moving to fill in the requested information on the form she also hands to him.

“Keep yourself available for questions, Mr. Pierce, in case we have any further topics we’d like to discuss with you,” Coulson says smoothly. Pierce looks up at him, scoffing.

Steve steps out of Natasha’s office before Pierce can reply, unable to hold back his victorious smirk. He’s still kind of worked up though, feeling the residual contemptuousness lingering just beneath the surface of his skin. He’s still tired, can feel the exhaustion beginning to sting his eyes, and doesn’t pay attention to where he’s trying to head back to his desk as she shakes his hands out, like he needs to dispel some of his renewed energy. His hand hits a muscular arm in front of him, and he jerks back quickly, stopping in his tracks as he nearly barrels right into the person in front of him.

“I’m so — ” he starts, immediately trying to apologize for running right into this person, and looks up quickly, where a familiar pair of brown eyes meets his. “Rumlow?” he asks incredulously, taking a step back in disbelief.

Brock Rumlow’s hand falls off of his elbow, and Steve hadn’t even realized that Rumlow had reached out to grab him to help keep Steve steadied. Steve quickly glances to Rumlow’s hand, then darts his eyes to his desk that is directly behind Rumlow, before he looks back confusedly. Rumlow’s standing only a few inches away from his desk, and when Steve meets his eyes again, a feral grin breaks out haughtily over Rumlow’s mouth. 

“Steve Rogers?” comes his reply, and then a hard, friendly pat on Steve’s shoulder has him grimacing slightly.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, taking another step back as his eyes run over Rumlow’s clothing. He’s wearing a gray suit with a navy tie, and Steve can’t help but think it doesn’t look right on him. Steve’s only ever seen Rumlow in Army green fatigues, and the gray of his suit looks out of place on his tan skin.

Steve shifts slightly, meeting Rumlow’s brown eyes once more as he angles his body further away. Rumlow wasn’t ever someone he particularly wanted to be close with.

“Do you work here?” Rumlow asks, glancing behind Steve’s shoulder towards Natasha’s office, shrugging off Steve’s disconcerted gaze.

“Uh, yes,” Steve replies. "I’m a Detective.”

“Law enforcement, really? _You?_ ” Rumlow asks, and the look he settles Steve with is decidedly not a nice one. His lips curl in derision and he eyes Steve with a harrowing pinch of his gaze.

“I’m not the same person you remember, Rumlow,” Steve says, and a contemptuous feeling spreads out around his chest. "What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you’re the one who ran into me,” Rumlow says, chuckling.

“Right, sorry about that,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s all good, Rogers. I’m here to pick up my boss. He’s helping out on a case with the police and the FBI,” Rumlow replies, smiling a lecherous grin.

It clicks for Steve, then, and he looks at Rumlow scornfully.

“Your boss is Alexander Pierce?” Sam suddenly asks from behind Steve, crossing his arms and staring at the man in front of him.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Rumlow asks, eyeing Sam with the same derisive glare Pierce had given him only a few moments ago.

“Detective Sam Wilson,” Sam replies, but doesn’t move to shake Rumlow’s hand politely like he would for anyone else he was just meeting. "I’m his partner.” He nods his head towards Steve, clenching his jaw.

“Never took you for the whole policeman persona, Rogers,” Rumlow scoffs, crossing his arms and eyeing them both with his eyebrows raised.

“Like I said, Rumlow,” Steve replies. "I’m not the same person you remember.”

“Clearly,” Rumlow says, his eyes trailing over Steve once more. Steve resists the urge to shiver uncomfortably at his calculating gaze.

“Rumlow, we’re leaving,” snaps a sharp voice behind them, and all three men turn to see Pierce, staring at them all with a nasty purse of his lips.

“Good seeing you again, Cap,” Rumlow says, giving Steve another lascivious smile as he steps forward and pats Steve with an open palm on his collarbone. “Watch where you’re going next time, yeah?” Steve flinches slightly, stumbling a little at the blow to his clavicle, and watches as Rumlow takes a step back, aims a spiteful glare at Sam, and turns around, following after Pierce with a smirk before Steve can reply.

Both Steve and Sam watch them disappear behind the doors of the precinct, where the sun is already beginning to set.

Steve rubs the area on his collarbone, as if he’s trying to rub away Rumlow’s unwanted touch, as Sam rounds back to him, asking, “ _That_ guy was from your Army days?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen him in years,” Steve replies, shaking his head. “What the hell is he doing working for a man like Alexander Pierce?”

“He wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine, Steve,” Sam says, scoffing. “There’s nothing innocuous about that guy. Dude was a dick.”

Steve nods in agreement. Even back during the war, Rumlow had always been a dick, subtly challenging Steve’s orders, or just being a menace in general. Seeing him now already makes Steve feel kind of unsettled.

There’s no way it’s a coincidence that he’s back stateside and working for the guy Steve’s investigating, but before he can read more into it, the buzzing of his phone draws his eyes away from the door of the precinct.

“Rogers,” he answers, and he’s immediately met with the sound of police and ambulance sirens.

“Hey, Steve, it’s Sharon,” Sharon says, and Steve looks confusedly towards the stairs leading down to Sharon’s lab. She’d been down there just half an hour ago.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’ve got good news and I’ve got back news,” Sharon says, and Steve can hear her sigh. "The good news is, I think I found our gun.”

“What, how?” Steve asks. "What’s the bad news?”

A pause.

“There’s been another murder.”

Steve’s blood runs cold.

—

When Steve, Sam, and Parker pull up to the new homicide, the liquor store they’ve been called to is crawling with about ten squad cars and two ambulances, all with their lights blaring and reflecting off the bars on the windows.

Steve can see Sharon’s coroner van backed into a parking spot across the parking lot from where he’d parked the Camaro, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s inside.

The sun has completely set, and the red and blue lights of the squad cars make Steve’s eyes burn when he looks at them.

Coulson’s back at the precinct with Natasha, going over the evidence log to see if there’s any way they can tie Pierce to either the crimes in Pakistan or the crime in Prospect Park. Steve doesn’t know if they’re going to be able to do either, but, God, does he want to see that smug look be wiped off Pierce’s arrogant face.

They all step out of the car then, heading up to the building quickly.

Sharon’s leaning against the cash register when they walk in, wearing gloves and a forensic vest. There are thick lines of blood spatter behind her, and the cash register below her fingers is covered in blood.

“Hey, Sharon,” Sam says, and she looks up at them, smiling tentatively.

“What happened?” Steve asks, looking around.

There are bullet casings all around his feet, and many of the liquor bottles behind the counter are shattered from the force of the cartridges.

“A sixteen-year-old kid came in to rob the place. The clerk must have sneezed, and the kid’s weapon spits out about fifty of your magic rounds. Shooter said he found it behind a dumpster at Fifth Avenue and Dean Street,” Sharon says motioning to the gun on the counter.

“That’s like, a block away from the 78th precinct,” Steve says, his brow furrowing. “What’s this thing doing all the way over here?”

Sharon shrugs, eyes pinched, and purses her lips, looking back at the blood in front of her.

The SH-IE7D gun that lays seemingly innocuous on the top of the counter looks even bigger and even deadlier than it had in the pictures, and Steve eyes it warily.

“Anyone else get hurt?” he asks, glancing up at Sharon.

“Hell yeah,” she nods at the gun. "Clerk took half a dozen. He’s loaded up into the back of my van.” She motions to the corner of the liquor store, and all three of them turn around to see a male teenager on an ambulance stretcher, face screwed up in pain. "And the rifleman over there literally shot himself in the foot. I’m just glad he ran out of ammunition.”

“I think it was a little bit too much gun for him,” Sam says, looking at the gun on the counter with trepidation.

“Would be for me, too. That thing’s a monster. I’m glad it’s off the streets,” Steve says.

“I’m going to head back to my lab and start analyzing it here in a few minutes. I’ll call you when I’ve found something,” Sharon offers, and Steve gives her a nod.

He can see some other detectives from their precinct already working and processing the scene, and he doesn’t want to step on anyone’s toes if he and Sam try to take over for them. So, he nods again, lifting a hand up to give Sharon a polite wave. "Okay, we’ll see you later, Sharon. Keep us updated.”

Both he and Sam turn around and begin to walk back the way they came, but Parker’s frozen to his spot by the counter, looking around the liquor store with wide eyes.

Sam turns back to him, snapping his fingers in front of Parker’s face. Parker flinches at the sound, but he still doesn’t move.

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks him, crossing his arms and fixing Parker with a look.

Parker gulps, and Steve turns to mimic Sam’s pose, looking at the agent expectantly.

“If that one weapon got out,” Parker says hesitantly, biting his bottom lip, "there may be more to follow.”

“This gun is the stolen supplies you were talking about?” Steve asks, eyes widening in surprise.

“That’s the problem we’re here to fix,” Parker nods, looking around the store and gulping audibly.

“Let me get this straight,” Sam says, clapping his hands together loudly before turning and dramatically pointing at the gun still sitting on the counter. " _That_ gun? The _cuts-people-in-half_ gun? That’s the missing supplies you and Coulson are here to retrieve?”

Parker nods numbly, his eyes pinched timidly.

“How many are we talking about?” Steve asks, voice sharp, serious. Parker turns to him, swallowing audibly.

“One hundred and forty-four."

Sam rounds on Parker, fire in his eyes. He’s absolutely livid. “One hundred and forty-four of _these_?” He motions to the gun with an aborted movement of his hand, clearly frustrated.

Parker just nods, panicked eyes widening.

“That’s not a _problem_ ,” Sam says. His voice is dangerously low, and Steve sees him shake his head in frustration.

Steve looks at Parker, a horrified curl to his lips.

"That’s a _war zone._ ”

—

“I cannot fucking believe that kid,” Sam sighs, opening the door to his apartment with a sigh.

Steve follows in after, closing the door behind himself with his own echoing huff of agreement.

Sam’s apartment in Park Slope is quaint and homey. It’s easy to tell that it’s a bachelor pad, fit with an Xbox resting on the second half of his TV stand, a massage chair in the corner closest to the fire escape, and mini ping pong paddles that they bring out occasionally when they feel like it resting in a game basket by the left side of the couch.

It’s still cozy and welcoming, though, not unlike Steve and Bucky’s place. Sam’s got pictures everywhere, some hanging up on the walls, some decorating the mantle behind the couch, and some even stuck on his fridge with magnets, making his place feel inviting and open.

The photos all range from pictures of his family to pictures of his friends. He’s got a framed picture of he and Steve from the day they graduated high school together sitting on the end table on the left side of the couch, and Steve always feels fond when he looks at it. He’s got that same picture on his own entryway table in he and Bucky’s brownstone.

There are a couple more pictures of Sam’s relatives scattered around the house, too: he and his mom posing together happily at some black-tie event, a photo of him when he and his sister were eight years old and dressed as cops for Halloween, even another picture of he and Steve hugging when they’d been able to see each other again after Steve had returned from basic training, complete with Steve in his Army uniform and all.

The one picture that always gets Steve smiling is the one Sam’s got pinned on his fridge — a photo of he, Sam, and Bucky smiling widely in front of Lake Tahoe when they’d taken a trip to California a little over a year ago. There are more pictures that he feels his chest tighten at, like the one of he and Sam, arms wrapped around each other in glee, big goofy grins on their faces when they’d graduated from the academy — or the one of Sam and Natasha singing karaoke at Natasha’s surprise party a few months ago. None of them make him smile as much as the one on the fridge does, and he knows it’s because Bucky looks so relaxed and comfortable and breathtakingly beautiful surrounded by the beautiful scenery of the mountains, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat every time he looks at it.

Sam’s standing next to Steve in the photo, a big grin on his face as he slings his arm around Steve’s neck. Steve’s hunched down a little to accommodate Sam’s arm around his shoulders, but he’s smiling widely, and his eyes are bright as he looks into the camera, leaning into Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s standing right next to the water on Steve’s right, his own smile more withdrawn compared to Steve and Sam’s, but just as bright and open, and his arm is slung around Steve’s waist protectively. He’s not looking at the camera like Steve and Sam are; his eyes are glancing to the right, away from the lens of the camera, so his eyes don’t flare in the picture. Bucky can’t really explain it, why his eyes flare if he looks into a camera lens, but he just adjusts accordingly anytime they take a picture, and many of the photos of he and Steve have Bucky looking away from the camera or at Steve so that the flare from his eyes doesn’t ruin the picture.

The pictures where Bucky’s eyes do cause a camera flare are photos Steve refuses to throw away or delete from his phone. Bucky should never have to hide who he is, even though he lives his life in secret compared to anyone else. Steve loves those pictures, even if he can’t ever do anything with them.

Steve’s got his own picture like the one on Sam’s fridge from Tahoe amongst the many more photos of the two of them together back at their brownstone. The picture Steve’s got on his nightstand is from the same scenery, only it’s a candid of just the two of them in front of the lake — Steve smiling brightly at Bucky with a hand on his chest, and Bucky grinning back at him fondly, right arm resting around Steve’s waist. They hadn’t realized that Sam had been taking their picture, and the way Bucky’s looking at Steve in the photo is enough to make Steve's heart flutter — so much love and affection sparkling all over Bucky's face from the sun’s reflection off the crystal blue lake behind them.

From all of the pictures he and Bucky have taken together over the course of the three years they’ve been together, the picture of them in Tahoe is undoubtedly Steve's favorite.

“I mean, what was Parker _thinking_?” Sam says suddenly, a berating edge to his voice, and Steve draws his eyes away from the fridge, looking up to see Sam leaning against the wall opposite to him and huffing.

“I know, Sam. This gun is incredibly dangerous, and there’s one hundred and forty-four of them out there. The FBI could have at least warned us about what we’d be dealing with,” Steve nods in agreement, crossing his arms and leaning back against the corner of Sam’s kitchen counter.

Sam shakes his head. “I hate this case. We can’t let any more of these guns fall into the public’s hands, man. We’ve gotta get them off the streets.”

“We will, Sam,” Steve replies, nodding his head confidently. “Sharon said she found a fiber wedged into the trigger of the gun. Could lead us to where the other ones are being stored.”

Sharon had called him only a few minutes ago while they were riding up in the elevator to Sam’s apartment to tell him her findings. They’d taken Parker back to the precinct to drop him off, and neither Steve nor Sam had been forthcoming with much friendly conversation.

Having this gun out on the streets is a serious problem. The FBI’s neglect of that oversight isn’t an excuse for keeping that knowledge private. If Parker hadn’t told them the truth, things could have ended up going a lot worse than they currently are. Steve understands Sam’s frustration. _He’s_ frustrated. Natasha was absolutely livid when she found out. But they’ve got a case to solve. Now that they know this information, they can take the next steps to do something with it. Sharon’s looking through the rest of the people in Bruce’s battalion now, and all they can do, at this moment, is wait until she finds something.

“That’s good,” Sam says to him, moving to open the fridge. “She say what kind of fiber it was yet?”

“Some kind of cloth tied into a knot. She thinks it’s from a Persian rug.”

Steve steps back, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t Bruce have a Persian rug in his cabin?”

Steve tilts his head, thinking. A moment later, he nods in reconciliation. “Actually, yeah. I think he did.” He purses his lips. “You thinking smuggler?”

Sam shrugs, uncapping the water bottle he’s pulled out from the fridge. “Maybe. But at least that gives us another option to pursue.”

Steve nods, crossing his arms.

Sam takes a sip of his water, giving Steve a knowing smile after he’s swallowed.

“Did Sharon tell you all of that before or after she flirted with you?” he asks, smile twisting into a smirk.

Steve groans. “Can you not mention that when Bucky gets here, please? I really don’t want him to get all worked up again about nothing.”

Sam points at him accusingly, still gripping the water bottle in his hand. “That girl is halfway in love with you, man. You’re going to have to let her down eventually. She’s starting to look desperate, especially when she already knows that you’re in a committed relationship.”

Steve rolls his eyes, fixing Sam with a patient look.

“I know I need to talk to her about it, and I _will_ , Sam,” his eyes dart towards the door, “but Bucky’s also going to be here any minute, and I don’t want him to hear about how someone else flirted with me, especially not when he’s already on edge and probably not in the best of moods, so can we please drop it?”

Sam stares back at him tentatively, raising the hand not gripping the water bottle to scratch at the back of his neck bashfully. Steve can tell Sam’s a little shocked at the outburst, and guilt pools in Steve’s chest, and he grimaces at himself.

“I’m dropping it,” Sam says, eyes flicking back to Steve apologetically. “I promise. I didn’t mean anything by it when I brought it up.”

“I know. I’m sorry I got snappy with you. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat,” Steve offers, giving Sam a small, apologetic smile.

Sam waves his hand in dismissal, giving Steve an overexaggerated ‘tsk’ sound. “You’re fine, Steve. I get it. I know how Bucky can be.”

Steve sighs at that, bringing his left hand up to rub tiredly over his eyes. “I know how dramatic I sound. He’s just so out of control lately, Sam. He’s even more possessive than he normally is, and if he hears that Sharon’s been flirting with me, he’ll get all upset about it and work himself up. We already had another bad night last night,” Steve exhales another sigh, “and I really don’t want to have another one tonight.”

“Do you wanna cancel dinner?” Sam asks, and Steve knows he’s being genuine. He doesn’t think Steve’s making a big deal out of nothing. He knows how serious and bad it could be if Bucky wolfed out right now when he’s barely got a lid on his control. “I know you’re tired, man, and Bucky’s probably not gonna mind if you decide we should cancel and you guys stay in for the night.”

Steve shakes his head, giving Sam a reassuring smile. “No, Sam. Family dinner is a tradition.” Sam gives him a wide grin and a chuckle. “I’m alright. I’m just worried about Bucky. You know how I get when I’m worried.”

Sam scoffs, but gives Steve another smile, nudging him fondly. “I have received the wrath of your worry one too many times, Rogers.”

Steve punches him lightly on the arm, pointing at him jokingly and mockingly scolding, “You know as well as I do that if I’d let you sign up to join the Army with me, we’d both never have heard the end of it from your Ma, and you _know_ that, Sam.”

Sam laughs loudly, nodding his head in agreement. They both know how much Sam’s Ma would have fussed over them, dragging them down to her height by their ears so she could properly talk some sense into them. Sam should be eternally grateful for dodging the bullet on _that_ one. Steve wasn’t as fortunate.

“I would have had your back over there,” Sam says gently, slapping Steve’s hand away from him. “You would have had someone in your corner. I could have maybe — ”

“I know, Sam,” Steve cuts him off, unwilling to dreg up the memories he knows Sam’s referring to. Tonight’s not the night for that.

Sam just gives him another nod and a soft smile, gently patting Steve’s shoulder before moving away, catching on to Steve’s reluctance to revisit the past. It’s not that Steve isn’t acknowledging those memories, or that he doesn’t feel comfortable talking about them with Sam. They feel irrelevant to him now, like he doesn’t want to think about them because they aren’t important enough for him to grant them space in his thoughts.

The dog tags on his neck burn hot, though, and he can feel them scorching into his chest like a beacon to his heart, as if to say _I’m a part of you, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not._

The sound of the window in the dining room opening draws Steve out of his thoughts, and his hand falls away from where he’d been resting it on top of his chest to clutch at the dog tags unconsciously. Both Steve and Sam’s eyes snap to the living room, both of their hands immediately moving to their guns still on their waistbands, only to see Bucky duck through the open pane a moment later, landing eloquently next to the wooden chair at the back of the dining room table.

He looks better than he did this morning, like he’s gotten some sleep and was able to completely dispel the nightmare out of his head. It makes Steve grin, and he drops his hands away from his gun, and his smile only widens when he hears Sam make an exasperated sound next to him, moving to unclip his holster and lay it on his kitchen counter.

“Jesus Christ, Lon Chaney. Ever heard of coming in through the door?”

Bucky just grins at him, moving to the front door to take off his shoes.

Sam continues, waving his hand towards the window. “There’s not even a fire escape near that window, dude. What did you do — climb up the wall?”

Bucky turns back around, shrugging, a hint of a smirk on his lips, and says nonchalantly, “Yes.”

Sam makes another exasperated sound, but Steve knows that he’s not actually annoyed, just trying to act put-out like he always does when Bucky does something normal humans can’t do.

“Who would be Bela Lugosi?” Steve asks him, grinning harder when Sam lightly punches him on the shoulder.

Bucky smiles, moving closer to them. He stops in his tracks though, sniffing the air like he can’t help himself, and a dark look settles over his face immediately. He snarls and the sound of it echoes disparagingly off the brick walls.

Both Sam and Steve turn to him in surprised confusion, shocked at the sudden hostile shift, and Bucky makes another deep, guttural sound, then he’s at Steve’s side in an instant, inhaling deeply.

“Why do you smell like that?” Bucky asks, a growl in his voice. His tone’s not demanding, just genuinely confused, but it’s like he can’t stop himself from growling, clearly irritated by Steve’s, apparently, execrable smell.

Steve glances over to Sam quizzically, who’s watching Bucky with a tenacious look, and feels like he’s missed something. Sam just shrugs his shoulders in confusion at Steve’s wide-eyed look, caught off guard by Bucky’s hostility as much as Steve is. Steve turns back to Bucky, careful to keep his voice level and calm.

“You always say I smell weird when I get back from work, Buck. I’ve been around a lot of people today.”

Bucky snarls again, shaking his head derisively. “It’s not that.” He moves to Steve’s other side, pushed up right against Steve’s front. “You smell like . . .” Bucky growls low in his throat, and there’s no mistaking the sharp edge of danger that lies underneath his frustration.

“Like what, Buck?” Steve asks gently, inhaling slowly, trying to unconsciously get Bucky to mimic his movements, to take a breath, to calm down before he loses it.

“Like another werewolf,” Bucky bites out, and Steve’s entire body runs cold as the venom in his voice.

“What?” he asks, trying to hold back his confusion as he looks at Bucky hesitantly. _Another werewolf?_ Steve barely knew werewolves existed three and a half years ago, and Bucky’s the only one he’s ever met. There’s no way he could smell like another _werewolf_.

“Bucky,” Sam says, ever the calm in the storm, “take a deep breath, man. Use your words. You’re starting to freak us out, buddy.”

Steve knows his heart’s racing in his chest. He’s not scared, would never be scared of Bucky, but he’s on edge, and he can feel anxiety thrumming through his veins at the way Bucky looks moments away from completely wolfing out.

Bucky darts his normal gray eyes over to Sam, still growling threateningly, and Steve watches, mildly surprised, as Bucky takes a small step away from him, sensing Steve’s anxiety, and takes a deep breath. He’s clearly not happy about putting space between them, but Steve can see that he’s desperately trying to hold himself back, to ease Steve’s worry.

His face twists up discomfortingly again, though, like the other werewolf’s scent is flooding his senses again, and a low growl sounds in his throat as his eyes briefly flicker Alpha red before they dim back into gray.

“Why would I smell like another werewolf?” Steve asks, watching Bucky carefully. “Are there any other werewolves in New York?”

“Not that I know of,” Bucky says through clenched teeth, clearly trying to listen to Sam and reign himself back in before he worries Steve even more.

“Who have we talked to today, Steve? You and I have pretty much been together all day, man. It’s not like we went or did anything out of the usual for us,” Sam says rationally, and Steve nods.

“I don’t know, Sam. We’ve talked to a lot of people today.” He bites his bottom lip, eyeing Bucky’s defensive stance. “How would we have run into another werewolf? What’s another werewolf even _doing_ here?”

Bucky growls and both Steve and Sam jump slightly at the sound.

“New York City is _my_ territory,” he bites out, his breathing picking up. “I’m the Alpha, and this omega has entered my territory without my permission, and he’s _scented you,_ which means he’s directly _challenging_ me, so he knows who you are, and he knows who I am.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and he looks at Bucky sharply. “ _Omega_? What does that even mean?”

Bucky places his hands on top of the kitchen counter, leaning against it to try to anchor himself. His claws are out, and Steve eyes them warily, his entire body tense.

“An omega is a werewolf without a pack,” Bucky says after a long pause, face impassive. “They’re desperate to belong, but they’re drifters and deserters. They’re basically betas, but betas belong to a pack. Since this one is here, spreading his scent all over you, it means he wants me to know he’s out there and willing to do whatever it takes to challenge me.” A pause and another growl. “Which means that he’s incredibly dangerous.”

Steve takes a deep breath, comprehension dawning on him. “You think he’s going to try to do something to me, don’t you?”

“I will _rip his throat out_ if he so much as touches you again,” Bucky growls, but it’s all the confirmation Steve needs. He swallows around the dry tongue in his mouth, feeling apprehension begin to curl in his stomach.

Bucky clenches his hands into fists, and the sound of his claws ripping into the skin of his palms is audible in the tense silence of the kitchen.

Sam takes a step forward, moving to grab a dish rag hanging on a rod by the sink, careful to put space between himself and Bucky, who looks absolutely murderous. The last thing neither Sam nor Steve needs is for Bucky to feel like they’re cornering him when he’s on the verge of wolfing out.

“Let’s take it easy, guys,” Sam says steadily, handing the rag to Bucky, who stares at it menacingly. A second later he reaches out and takes it, nodding in thanks, and wipes the towel between his hands so he can clean the blood resting over his already healed wounds.

“He scented you, Steve,” Bucky says, voice low but still sharp. His words are heavy, the weight of them knocking a breath out of Steve’s lungs. “Right near your neck. That’s where _I_ scent you.”

Understanding washes over Steve then, flooding through his veins like ice. Bucky always scents him on his neck because it’s _intimate_ , a type of affection that Bucky’s always told him would only be shared between lovers because of how private and personal it is.

Bucky would never scent anyone else like that, even Sam, no matter how much he wants those closest to him to smell like him. Bucky said it himself: he’s territorial.

Steve suddenly feels wrong, violated, like his skin’s on fire. This werewolf practically _defiled_ him.

“You said that this werewolf is an omega, right? Someone who doesn’t have a pack?” Sam asks, and Steve appreciates his ability to bring everyone’s attention back to what matters. “Why aren’t you considered an omega?”

Bucky looks at him blankly, like he doesn’t know why Sam would ask something so offensive. “I’m the Alpha,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Sam replies patronizingly. “I know that. But you said it yourself, man, there aren’t any other werewolves in New York. Well, except for our uninvited guest.” He grins a little at his joke. “So, you don’t have a pack.”

Bucky looks at him, scowling, but he seems to get what Sam’s saying. “I have a pack.”

“You do?” Steve asks, tilting his head to the side. He hadn’t quite understood why Bucky wasn’t considered an omega, either.

“Yes,” Bucky says patiently, giving Steve an odd look. “You two,” he gestures to Sam and Steve, “are my pack.”

Steve’s eyes widen in shock. He didn’t even know that was a _thing_.

“But Steve and I are human,” Sam says, confused, glancing over at Steve. “We’re not betas. Is that even possible?”

Bucky crosses his arms, tossing the rag onto the counter. He nods. “Yes. Human pack members are just as valuable and as important to the pack as wolf members are.”

Steve knows that a few of Bucky’s family members that were slaughtered in the fire that took his entire family’s lives were human. His sister, Rebecca, was a human, barely fourteen years old when she was murdered. Bucky himself was almost seventeen, innocent and young, when he’d woken up in the burning house that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

He reaches out towards Bucky, taking his hand and squeezing. Bucky’s claws have disappeared back into his fingernails, and he looks calmer, less likely to wolf out at any second.

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand gently, running the pad of his thumb in soothing circles over Steve’s skin.

“Why don’t we all just relax for a few, alright? Our food’s gonna be here in like ten minutes. Let’s enjoy our family dinner,” Sam says, clapping his hands together. “Then we can talk about this werewolf situation, and what we’re going to do about it.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Bucky and Steve let out matching exhales, nodding. Sam grins at them, patting Steve on the back in reassurance.

“I don’t want this guy coming near you again,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, moving closer to Steve and wrapping his hand around the back of Steve’s neck gently, stroking the soft skin.

Steve turns his head toward Bucky, saying lightly, “I know you don’t, but I can take care of myself, Buck.”

Bucky nods, eyes flickering down to Steve’s. “I know you can, Steve.” He moves in closer, lips brushing up against Steve’s ear, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. “But the thought of another werewolf touching you,” his voice turns sharp, and he takes a breath, “or scenting you,” a growl, “makes me go crazy, baby. I can _still_ smell him on you.”

Steve lets Bucky move his hand around his throat, spreading his scent more, and feels his body relax further into Bucky’s warm and safe embrace.

“I know you can handle yourself,” Bucky says, exhaling deeply before continuing, “but it’s really hard for me to fight my instincts right now.” He rubs his thumb down the tendons of the right side of Steve’s neck, voice softening. “I know I seem really territorial and possessive,” he starts, and Steve can see the way Bucky’s gearing himself up to defend himself, to defend his actions, because he doesn’t want Steve to get mad at him, “but, God, Steve — just the thought of him being near you makes me want to rip his head off.” 

Steve can’t help but chuckle lightly at Bucky’s predictable overprotectiveness. “I don’t like it either, Buck. I don’t like that this werewolf has come into your territory without asking you. Who knows what he’s going to do — or what he’s going to try to do to achieve it. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of him.”

Bucky tightens his hand around Steve’s neck, still gently stroking, and says, “I don’t want him to hurt _you_.”

“Do you think he would try?” Steve asks, moving to completely face Bucky, who slings his left arm around Steve’s waist, still unwilling to move out of Steve’s space yet.

No matter how strong Steve is, or how stubborn he can be, he knows he’ll never be able to match the mental and physical strength of a werewolf. He’s been around Bucky enough to know that a werewolf is at least a hundred times stronger than a human, and Bucky’s the Alpha, which means he’s even _stronger_.

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t want to find out. Hurting you would be the only way he’d be able to win a challenge against me.”

Steve scoffs lightly, nudging a hand against Bucky’s chest. “You’re saying you, the Alpha, wouldn’t be able to take this punk omega in a fight?”

Bucky shakes his head, grabbing Steve’s hand off of his chest and bringing it up to his mouth, gently kissing the side of his palm. “No,” he says, serious but smiling softly. “He’s probably only about half as strong as me because I’m an Alpha. I’d tear him apart.” He kisses the center of Steve’s palm. “But I couldn’t risk you. You’re too important,” then, even softer, “you’re the only weakness I have.”

“Buck. . .” Steve says, leaning forward so he can push their foreheads together. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows it’s the same for him, too.

“If he hurt you, I’d kill him. If it would stop him from causing you harm, I’d give him anything he wanted, and that includes this territory, or even my life,” Bucky admits quietly after a few moments, so serious and honest.

Steve’s heart stops beating.

“No,” he says firmly, pressing their bodies together even closer. He knows Sam’s still lingering around them somewhere, but Steve can’t think about him right now, not when Bucky’s admitting that he would give up his _life_ for Steve. “That’s not going to happen. You’re not going to _kill_ anybody. None of this is going to happen, and if it does — _so help me, God, Bucky Barnes_ — ” and Steve can’t even _think_ anymore, “you are not going to _die_ for me. I won’t let you.”

He’s on the verge of panicking, and he knows he needs to reign himself in, but he can’t help the gnawing sense of fear that creeps up his spine at Bucky’s words. Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes sternly, his body anxious. Bucky’s warm hands move up to his face, and Steve stares at him with wild eyes. Bucky can probably hear Steve’s heart beginning to accelerate.

“Steve, calm down, sweetheart,” Bucky’s soothing voice washes over him, his thumbs stroking Steve’s cheekbones. “Breathe, baby.”

Steve inhales sharply, closing his eyes, and leans into the heat of Bucky’s palms, letting the warmth ground him. He exhales slowly, opening his eyes to stare into Bucky’s.

“Better?” Bucky asks, his voice light, but his eyes were wide and serious.

“Yes,” Steve says cautiously, frowning. The thought of losing Bucky at all is not a thought he ever wants to have. “I’m not letting you die for me.”

Bucky winces at Steve’s words, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Steve — ”

“ _No_ , Bucky,” Steve cuts him off sharply, his voice choked, panic still fluttering in his chest. “Why would you _ever_ say that? You are _not_ dying for me. I will _not_ let you do that. You dying is not an _option_. Promise me.”

“Promise what?” Bucky asks quietly, jaw clenched. He’s infuriated, Steve knows, with his nostrils flared and the hard edge of his mouth clenched so tight it could be chiseled from stone.

“You know what,” Steve says resolutely, stubbornly squaring his shoulders.

Bucky is _not_ getting out of this.

It takes a moment, but eventually, “I promise,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips, his expression soft, the frustration gone from his voice. He says his words carefully, almost slightly wanton, like he understands what Steve’s asking but knows he can’t promise it.

Steve looks into his eyes deeply, but Bucky presses their lips together quickly, and Steve’s helpless but to completely melt into him. Now isn’t the time for arguing. He’ll bring it up later. Like _hell_ he’s going to let Bucky get away with this.

A low whistle sounds behind them, and they both break apart and turn to see Sam, who’d wordlessly left the kitchen at some point, holding up two bags full of takeout.

“That conversation was heavy, guys,” Sam says, but he doesn’t look sarcastic or snarky. “Why don’t we all take a breather and eat, okay?”

Steve nods, backing away from Bucky slightly and pulling him towards the dining room. Sam follows after a few minutes, takeout bags in one hand and dinner plates in the other.

Their favorite Thai place doesn’t disappoint, as always. It’s still hot despite the half hour delivery time, and Steve feels satiated if still a little on edge while they gather at the table and eat, glancing at Bucky repeatedly throughout the course of dinner, who just eats his enormous amount of food quietly as Steve tries to idly make conversation with Sam about the next football game and their excitement for the upcoming basketball season. Bucky’s still brooding, but he lets Steve and Sam bring him into their conversation occasionally, and he keeps one of his hands on Steve’s thigh as he eats. He’s clearly still on edge, and his hardened expression doesn’t leave his face for the entire dinner.

As they're all finishing up and scraping their plates, Sam’s phone begins ringing loudly from on top of the table where he’d laid it next to his plate, and Steve can’t help but balk at the song choice of Sam’s ringtone, pulling himself away from his food.

“Is that _Sexual Healing_?” Steve asks, barely holding back an amused grin.

Sam gives him a wide grin, turning the phone around to see who’s calling him. “There ain’t nothing wrong with a little Marvin Gaye from time to time, Rogers.”

“Okay,” Steve says, full on laughing, “but there’s Marvin Gaye, and then there’s _weird, freaky sex vibes_.” Sam just shrugs, his cheeks turning pink, but Steve gasps. “Oh my, God! You’re on a _cleanse_! Whose ringtone is that?”

Sam gives him another nonchalant shrug, muttering, “Nobody,” before muting the call and placing his phone back down on the table. Bucky makes a noise that sounds a lot like a snort, presumably at hearing the blip in Sam’s heart from his lie, and Sam gives him a glare. Steve stares at him, a wide grin on his face.

“You have a girl!” Steve says, leaning across the table and lightly punching Sam in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s nothing, man,” Sam says, but the tone he says it with implies that it _absolutely is something._

Sam’s reluctant to talk about it though, but Steve knows he’ll find out soon enough. Sam’s never been able to keep important information like that from him. Steve’s just going to have to be patient.

“Well, out of all the 80s songs you could have picked, _Sexual Healing_ was the one that did it for you?” Bucky asks, taking a sip of water from a plastic water bottle and glancing towards Sam with a raised eyebrow, but Steve can tell he’s trying not to smile from behind the cap of the water.

“ _Sexual Healing_ is the most iconic song of all time,” Sam scoffs at Bucky.

“No, Sam,” Steve says, chuckling. “Everyone knows _Don’t Stop Believin’_ is the best _._ ”

Sam gasps dramatically. “What the _fuck_? Next you’re gonna start waxing poetic about _Hungry Like the Wolf_. That’s more up Bucky’s alley, don’t you think?”

Bucky looks at him with narrowed eyes, before deadpanning, “There are only so many offensive werewolf jokes I can take, Wilson.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Please, Barnes. The anthem of your life is literally _Werewolves of London_.”

Bucky just stares back at Sam, jaw clenched and a bewildered expression on his face, before shrugging his shoulders grumpily.

Steve’s phone begins buzzing in his pocket, and he risks a glance at Bucky, who looks back with a frown, before Steve answers monotonically, “Rogers.”

“Hey, Steve,” Sharon says down the line, and Steve closes his eyes in irritation.

“Hey.” There’s a pause, and when Sharon doesn’t immediately start talking again, he asks questioningly, “What’s up?”

“Is Sam with you? Natasha’s been trying to get a hold of him,” Sharon asks, and Steve can hear the excitement in her voice, pitching up her soft soprano, and something in the back of Steve’s head starts to light up like a warning sign.

“Yeah, he is. Why?” he asks, eyes flickering over at Sam, who’s already looking at Steve with a confused brow raise.

_Who is it?_ Sam mouths, but before Steve can say anything back, Bucky aggravatingly mutters, “Sharon,” eyes staring steadfast out of the same window he’d came through earlier.

“Can you put me on speaker? Or can he hear me?” Sharon asks. “I think I’ve got something.”

Steve pulls the phone away from his ear obligingly, trying to shake off his irritation. He puts the phone on speaker, pointing the end of it towards Sam so he’ll be heard if he decides to talk.

“Go ahead, Sharon. We can both hear you.”

“Alright, Detectives,” Sharon starts, and Steve hears the distinct sound of a keyboard clicking in the background. “We’ve got Persian carpets and an Army tattoo. How does that equal gun runner?”

Steve glances at the phone. “You’re still thinking the killer is someone Bruce served with in the military?” he surmises, pursing his lips. He peeks over at Bucky from the corner of his eyes, hesitant. Bucky’s technically not supposed to be hearing any of this information, but even if Steve hadn’t put the phone on speaker, Bucky would have heard Sharon anyway with his werewolf hearing.

He’s still a little uncomfortable discussing the case so blatantly like this. Bucky’s already made it a point of telling Steve that he works too much, and he doesn’t want this phone call to cross the line and get him into another fight with Bucky, not when Bucky’s on edge and annoyed.

“I cross-referenced the Five Hundred and Thirty-Second Airborne Battalion with New York City locals,” Sharon confirms. “Since the killer dropped the gun so close near the 78th Precinct, I’m thinking he knows the area pretty well.”

“Maybe he lives over there,” Sam offers.

“I got fourteen candidates from the search that served while Bruce was active,” Sharon replies.

“Did any of them drive a Dodge pickup?” Steve asks.

“Our telepathy is working again, Steve,” Sharon chuckles at him. “I got a hit. Jack Rollins. He grew up a couple of blocks away from the liquor store where the gun was found, and the prints from the gun matched his through AFIS.”

“What happened to him?” Sam asks, leaning forwards on his forearms in interest, pushing his dinner plate away.

“He was honorably discharged, then went the way of the rap sheet. Got a B&E in 2015, assault, and a concealed carry charge. Now, he works as an independent truck driver.”

“What kind of truck?” Steve asks.

“A ‘97 Peterbilt semi,” Sharon replies, sounding smug.

“But he doesn’t work for Hydra,” Sam finishes for her, frowning.

“He wouldn’t,” Steve says, crossing his arms. “He’s probably not smart enough. Remember what Pierce said? ‘Only the best and brightest.’ Background checks, and all that. Rollins might be our weak link.”

“So, someone from Hydra boosts the guns in Pakistan, brings them into the United States, and he’s got to move ‘em so he doesn’t get caught,” Sam nods.

“That someone calls our guy,” Steve adds. “He asks Rollins the truck driver to haul some cargo.”

“Haul some Persian rugs,” Sam says, smirking. “That’s how the fibers got on the gun.”

“Maybe Rollins got a look at what he was really hauling,” Sharon says, and both Sam and Steve look back to the phone. “So, he takes them to Bruce, a gun expert, to see what exactly he had.”

“What he still has,” Steve counters. “Until he unloads them, which could happen at any time. We’ve got to find Rollins and his truck.”

“Well,” Sam starts, smirking, “lucky for us, we’ve got the weight of the FBI behind us. We need to call Coulson.”

“And Parker,” Steve reminds him, and Sam groans in response.

“I’ve already got a citizen’s broadcast out,” Sharon cuts in. “It’s put me in contact with every private company on the road — UPS, FedEx, and trucking companies.”

“Like a CB radio on steroids,” Sam supplies, nodding.

“And I just got a hit. Driver spotted heading eastbound on I-495, driving a beige Peterbilt semi.”

Steve’s gaze rushes up to meet Sam’s. “That’s like twenty minutes from here.”

“We’ve gotta go, now,” Sam says, “before this guy gets any more of those guns out into the public.”

“I’ll call Coulson and Parker. I’ll have them meet you here,” Sharon says, before she hangs up abruptly, the dial tone sounding ominously throughout the dining room.

Steve reaches down to grab his phone, hanging up the call, and Bucky’s eyes follow his movements, steely and calculating.

“You’re going _now_?” he asks, watching as both Sam and Steve stand up. His hand falls off of Steve’s thigh somewhat jarringly.

“We’ve got to stop this guy,” Steve says, reaching for his plate and picking it up, moving towards the kitchen to place it in the sink. Bucky stands and follows him, a deep frown on his face. “If these guns get out on the streets, a lot of people are going to die, Buck.”

“I get that,” Bucky says. “I’m not trying to argue with you.” He puts his own plate in the sink, following Steve to the door where their shoes are. “But there _is_ still another werewolf out there,” he continues, tone aggravated but trying to sound reasonable. “And I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Buck,” Steve says, bending down to grab his shoes. “I’ll have Sam with me.”

“Relax, Wolf Man. You think I’d let anything happen to him?” Sam says a second later, slinging his holster back around his waist.

“I’m serious,” Bucky growls sharply, crossing his arms and glaring at Sam.

“Buck,” Steve says softly, putting his hands on either side of Bucky’s face to get Bucky to look at him once he’s done lacing his shoes. “I’ll be _fine_. We’re gonna get this guy tonight, and then when I get back, we’ll talk about this omega and what to do with him. And then you and I can finally sleep.” He strokes Bucky’s cheekbones to soothe him. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Bucky exhales a deep breath, leaning his forehead against Steve’s and nods. “I’m not letting you leave when you come back,” he tells him, resigned. “You and I have some serious sleeping to do.”

Steve grins widely, chuckling. “I love you, grumpy. I’ll see you later tonight. I promise.”

Bucky moves forward, pressing their lips together. Steve’s entire body thrums from the current that courses through his veins at the feel of Bucky’s lips on his. He melts into Bucky, kissing him harder, then pulls back all too soon. No matter how much he wants to stay and let himself be kissed so deeply the entire world melts away around him, he can’t. Steve’s got a job to do.

“I love you, too,” Bucky whispers against Steve’s lips, kissing him quickly again. He pulls back, fixing Steve with a pointed look, desperation glinting in his gray eyes. “Please, be safe.”

“Always am, Buck,” Steve whispers back, feeling Bucky move so he can place a tender kiss on Steve’s forehead.

“We’ve gotta go,” Sam says, gun holstered and ready, but he says it softly, like he knows this moment between Bucky and Steve is more than Bucky being worried about their job.

“I’ll clean up all of the food and everything so that you don’t have to, Sam,” Bucky says, still staring into Steve’s eyes.

“Oh,” Sam replies, surprised. “Thank you, Bucky. I’d really appreciate that.”

“Watch after him, please,” Bucky replies, and a fond feeling spreads throughout Steve’s chest even as he rolls his eyes.

“You forget which one of us survived a war, Buck,” Steve says quietly, teasing, but Bucky looks at him with serious eyes, so Steve nods reassuringly and straightens up. “We’ll be fine.”

Bucky sighs deeply, giving Steve one last kiss on his forehead. Steve pulls back, smiling softly, before he and Sam disappear behind the front door with a baleful _click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Alexander Pierce and Brock Rumlow are dicks in every universe. I hope you guys love Protective Bucky as much as I do. I promise our boys will get to spend some quality time together here very soon! 
> 
> See you all in a couple of days!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm back with chapter 7! This chapter isn't one of my favorites, and I've reworked it so many times as I continued writing this, but I feel as though I've kept you guys waiting long enough! I promise all of the chapters after this one are way better! This chapter is a little on the short side, but the next chapter is long so stay tuned! 
> 
> Again, thank you to everyone who continues to comment and give me kudos. You guys have no idea how much every comment means to me! This story really starts picking up after this! Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: This chapter continues discussing themes of PTSD. It doesn't go into depth at all, but if you find mentions of trauma to be a trigger, please read with caution.

_“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” — Dylan Thomas_

When Steve and Sam pull up to the precinct fifteen minutes later, the entire block is swarming with squad cars and black SUVs. Steve steers the Camaro into a spot adjacent to the brick building, and he and Sam quickly unbuckle their seatbelts and step out of the car.

Steve can feel his adrenaline beginning to build inside his body, his heart picking up speed in his chest. He’s antsy, excited they’ve finally seemed to have gotten somewhere on this case.

Sam opens the glass door to the building quickly, holding it open for Steve as they both walk through, and immediately they’re both hit with the full extent of chaos and the rush of motion of the first floor of the precinct.

Sharon’s waiting for them at Steve and Sam’s desks, and Coulson and Parker are standing with her, clearly ready to get a move on. Parker’s nervously twisting his fingers, already wound up tight with anxiousness. Steve pats him on the shoulder when they walk up, hoping to get him to relax.

“Hey, boys,” Sharon says to them both, smiling at them as they settle next to the two agents.

Steve nods back in acknowledgement, crossing his arms.

“Where’s Natasha?” Sam asks, nodding towards Natasha's office across from the precinct.

“She’ll be here in a second,” Sharon says, motioning her head toward the second level. Steve looks up towards the railing, where Natasha is leaning against the metal with her phone nestled against her shoulder. Steve can’t see her face, but she looks incredibly tense and agitated as she taps her fingernails against the railing. “I think she’s talking to the D.A.,” Sharon continues, and Steve looks back down at her.

“She better be quick,” Sam says, his eyes flickering up to the railing. “We’ve gotta get this guy, like, now.”

“We will,” Steve says, patting him on the back. He crosses his arms again and looks at Sharon. “Is he still driving?”

“According to my broadcast,” Sharon says, motioning to the tablet in her hands, “our guy’s at a truck stop for the night. It’s only about ten minutes away from here.”

“Do we have a plan?” Steve asks, glancing at Parker and Coulson.

Coulson just moves to place his hands in his dress pants pockets, not shrugging but looking decidedly desolate, and says, “Figured we’d leave the majority of that up to you two. We’ll go with you to back you both up, but this case is yours, and we don’t want to take the arrest away from you.”

“That’s so mature of you,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow. “He gonna be in our custody after we make the arrest?”

Coulson does shrug this time, nodding his head slightly. “For a few minutes. This man has infringed on national security. I’m sure my superiors would like to have him in federal custody.”

“He’s all yours after we get a confession,” Steve supplies, looking to Sam for agreement. Sam nods in response, leaning forward against the desk.

“Sounds fair,” Coulson replies, smiling politely. Parker nods in acquiescence, looking resolutely at the woodwork in front of him.

Sam nudges him to get his attention, and Parker flinches a little before he looks up, eyes haunted.

“You up for this, kid?”

Parker stares back at Sam, before sighing softly through his nose. Steve can tell he’s still nervous, but his eyes harden and he shrugs, saying quietly, “Yeah. I’m just nervous.”

“You have every right to be nervous,” Steve tells him honestly, tone soft. “The important thing is that you’re here with us, and you’re not going to back down if things get rough.”

“I won’t,” Parker says. He doesn’t say it confidently, but his words have weight behind them, like he’s trying to wish them into existence. “I’ll back you both up. I promise.”

“Good,” Sam says, smirking, before he brings his hand up and pats Parker’s shoulder a tad forcefully. “Cause if you chicken out, someone could get hurt, and that someone could be you.”

“I’m not gonna chicken out,” Parker mutters, shrugging Sam’s hand off. Sam chuckles, moving to fully lean his weight on the desk again.

“Why are you all standing around for?” Natasha’s voice asks shrilly a few seconds later, and both Steve and Sam stand up straight, turning to her.

“Just waiting on you, Lieutenant,” Sam grins at her, flashing her a pearly white grin.

“The truck stop is in a pretty public place,” Sharon says, and everyone’s attention snaps to her. “It’s also nine o’clock at night, so it shouldn’t be that crowded with civilians.”

“I still want each of you in protective gear,” Natasha says, pointing at both Sam and Steve, then rounding on Coulson and Parker. “That includes the two of you.”

“Already on it, Lieutenant,” Coulson replies, smiling.

Natasha gives him a stern look again, but she yields, turning back to the group at large. “I don’t want any surprises with this,” she says, serious eyes sharp. “I don’t care who gets to the truck stop first, but you all need to wait for back up before engaging. We don’t know what this guy will do once he’s caught, and I’m not willing to risk anyone’s life to find out. You find the truck, you hold the perimeter, and you _wait._ ” 

Everyone nods, and she relaxes slightly.

“Sharon’s going to ride with one of you, and she’s going to be in charge of recovering the guns until we hand them over to you guys,” she continues, nodding to the two agents. “So, I want you to suit up too, Sharon. If everything goes according to plan, tomorrow, after everything has been collected and processed, and the suspect has been interviewed, everything will be released into the FBI’s custody.”

“Affirmative,” Coulson nods, eyes bright.

“Let’s get suited up,” Natasha ends, and everyone springs into motion. Steve and Sam make their way over to the weapons locker, entering it swiftly. Steve grabs two bulletproof vests, handing one to Sam, and removes his jacket to put it on. He’s left standing in his white cotton t-shirt, and Sam hands him a NYPD jacket to put on top of the vest. He removes his detective’s badge from the buckle on his belt, grabbing a chain and clipping the badge to it before slinging it around his neck.

The badge clacks against his dog tags, and Steve looks down at them briefly before tucking them into his t-shirt.

Sam watches him, putting his own badge around his neck, and gives him a quick once-over, asking, “You good?”

“Yeah, are you?” Steve replies, watching as Sam untucks his t-shirt to fit better underneath the vest.

“Yep,” Sam responds, his lips popping. “Let’s go get our bad guy.”

Steve grins, chuckling, before grabbing two clips for their guns, tossing one to Sam, and placing the other into his pocket.

They head back out to the lobby a few seconds later, nodding at Parker and Coulson, who have their own FBI vests and jackets on, and Sharon, who looks out of place clutching her tablet against her chest, sans bulletproof vest, but sporting a jacket matching Sam and Steve’s wrapped around her petite figure.

Coulson and Parker look back at them curtly, turning to head out the front door. Steve, Sam, and Sharon follow a second later, and Sharon moves to grab her forensic case as they all step outside into the warm air.

The two agents turn back to Sam and Steve once they’ve stepped down and off the stairs, and Coulson says, “You guys take the lead. We’ll follow you two.”

Steve nods, and the five of them split apart — Steve, Sam, and Sharon heading towards Steve’s Camaro, and Coulson and Parker towards one of the many black SUVs parked less than legally against the curb.

Steve unlocks his car, and Sam shares a brief look with him, eyes flickering to Sharon, as if to say _You knew she was going to come with us, right?_ , before he moves to the passenger side, sliding into the seat with practiced ease.

Steve watches Sharon as she opens the back door and sets her forensic case down into the opposite floorboard before she elegantly slides into the seat and sits, and he closes the door behind her once she’s situated. She looks at him through the window and smiles, her eyes tracking over his body in a quick once-over before her smile turns coy.

Steve feels his cheeks heat slightly in discomfort, and he can’t help but feel mildly irritated as he’s reminded yet again of her slight flirting. It’s no surprise she would decide to ride with him and Sam. Why would she want to drive with two FBI agents she barely knows?

Above all, though, Steve knows he needs to have a talk with her eventually about the flirting and lingering looks she gives him. Its surpassed flattering a while ago, and now he just feels uncomfortable when she looks at him for too long or gives him a flirty smile.

That conversation is going to have to happen soon, but he pushes it to the back of his mind now as he climbs into his car, presses his key into the ignition and starts it, and begins backing out of the spot.

“Did you guys have a nice night before we all got called back in?” Sharon asks as they pull away from the brick building, and Steve’s ire swells in his chest. They’re actually going to make small talk while they drive to arrest a murderer?

Sam turns around to look at her smugly, but his voice takes on a joking tone as he says, “As a matter of fact, we did. We were having a nice family dinner before you called and ruined it.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek so he can hold back a scoff at that. The dinner had been nice, sure, but only after Bucky had made them aware of another werewolf encroaching on his territory, and nearly wolfed out because of it.

Sharon chuckles lightly, and Steve sees her roll her eyes exasperatedly in the rear view mirror. “Sorry,” she says, but the tone she says it with implies she’s anything but. “Maybe if you would have invited me, I wouldn’t have been in such a rush to get you guys back into the precinct.”

Steve glances at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He knows Sharon’s joking, kidding around with her colleagues, but family dinner is a tradition between Steve, Bucky, and Sam. The thought that Sharon wants to intrude on that makes Steve’s insides churn.

“We haven’t known you nearly long enough for you to receive an invite, Sharon. Natasha’s not even invited,” Sam says pointedly, his voice kind but words exacting.

“It’s a bit of a boys club,” Steve says, looking at her in the mirror again briefly as he stops at a red light.

“How misogynistic,” Sharon says, but she smiles at him cheerily, and Steve turns his eyes back onto the road.

“Wouldn’t you have something better to do besides eat with a couple of cops on a random Wednesday night?” Sam asks, turning around to look at Sharon with a raised eyebrow, and Steve appreciates his deflection.

That is, until Sharon coyly replies, “Depends on who’s asking,” and Steve can practically feel her eyes drilling into the side of his head. He feels himself blush deeply at the attention, embarrassed.

His hands tighten on the wheel, and he stifles a cough, trying not to feel awkward under her unwanted gaze.

Steve sees Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, and he looks at Steve with a cautious look like he’s trying to gauge his reaction.

“Who gets invited to these dinners, anyway?” Sharon continues.

“Me and Steve have been having dinners together since high school,” Sam shrugs. “Just the two of us. In recent years, Bucky’s been coming, too.”

“Oh, yes, the _boyfriend_ ,” Sharon responds. Her words are a little clipped, cold. She’s still grinning when Steve risks a glance at her in the rearview mirror again, but her eyes are narrowed. “Who I have _still_ yet to meet.”

Steve gives a little shrug, stopping at another red light, and not offering Sharon any of what she wants to hear. “He’s pretty busy throughout the week, Sharon.”

“He’s got to be if he’s never come around to see you at work,” Sharon replies, offhand. Steve’s jaw hardens.

Sam clears his throat lightly, eyeing Steve’s clenched jaw before he turns slightly to say, “Work’s a professional place. Nobody should really be coming around to bother us.”

Steve nods, flicking his indicator down and checking his blind spot as he bites the inside of his cheek again as he says, “If we get distracted on the job, we could get hurt. Bucky understands that.”

“No, right, of course. I didn’t mean to assume anything,” Sharon says. It’s a quiet for a moment, the conversation seeming to taper off, before Sharon asks as she looks somewhat shyly out of the window, “What does he do again?”

“He’s a mechanic. Got his own garage down not too far from Classon,” Steve replies as a warm feeling spreads out in his lungs. He’ll never not feel content when he talks about Bucky.

“A grease monkey,” Sharon says teasingly. “That’s hot.”

Steve feels his cheeks redden again. He’s well aware of Bucky’s sexual appeal.

“How long have you both been together?” Sharon asks again, curious. Steve feels himself relax a little, having not realized how stiff his body actually was. This is familiar territory, talking about him and Bucky.

Something niggles in the back of his head though, like he’s remembering talking about all of this stuff before with Sharon. He doesn’t really know why she’s asking again.

“Three years,” Steve responds proudly, grinning nonetheless.

Sharon meets his eyes in the mirror again, a small smile on her face. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“That’s sweet,” she replies, quietly. Sam gives him another look, and Steve meets him with a small shoulder shrug.

“What about you, Sharon? Got any hot dates?” Sam asks, and Steve feels relief course through his veins, happy to have the subject changed.

Sharon shakes her head. “No, not really. Not since that flight attendant. I don’t really have time with the amount of cases we’ve been going through.”

“It’s not always like this,” Steve offers, turning at a light to merge onto I-495. “This past month’s been crazy, even from a case point of view.”

“I’ve worked a lot of cases before,” Sharon starts, “but it’s a lot busier here than it was where I was at before. The workload is just a little different.”

“You seem to be keeping up with it alright,” Sam says, offering her a smile.

“You’re a huge help to the precinct, Sharon,” Steve tells her honestly, glancing back at her again. “We’re lucky to have you.”

That earns him a blush and a private smile, and he looks away quickly, worried he might have accidently hinted at a double meaning in his words. Steve is in a happily committed relationship, but the last thing he wants to do is lead anyone on.

Maybe that conversation he’s been meaning to have with Sharon needs to happen even sooner than he’d been intending.

“I hope we end this case tonight,” Sharon says after a moment of silence, cheeks still rosy.

“You and me both, dude,” Sam sighs back, leaning against the passenger side door.

Steve nods in agreement. “I can’t wait to sleep.”

Sam raises his head and nods enthusiastically, dramatically groaning, “Amen, man.”

Sharon chuckles, and they all lapse into silence a few seconds later. They all must be tired, having already dealt with a murder previously just a couple of hours ago, but Steve’s anxious to get this night and case over with.

They’re all quiet for the next few minutes, but Steve can feel the energy in the car changing from relaxed to anxious, feels the way they’re all beginning to buzz with anticipation as they get closer and closer to the truck stop.

Only a few moments later he’s pulling off the highway, exiting up the ramp and stopping at the stop light. The last thing he or the two FBI agents, or the many other squad cars, behind him want to do is go on with their lights blaring and spook the suspect into doing something drastic, not when he has the power of those guns at his hands.

Steve takes a deep breath, turning right off the ramp and beginning to maneuver the car into the truck stop parking lot.

The truck stop itself is pretty generic and bland. There are thirty or so semi trucks parked on either side of the pump stations, and the lights flicker poorly when they drive past it.

No one is out and moving, either inside or outside, and the place looks empty except for the resting trucks. Steve continues to steer deeper into the parking lot, eyes searching in the low light for the semi they need.

He risks a glance behind them, making sure he’s not lost Coulson and Parker and the other uni’s they’d come with, but it’s just darkness behind him, dirt kicked up from the gravel his tires tread over.

“We’ve lost everyone else,” Steve says, and both Sharon and Sam look behind them, sighing deeply.

“Let’s just find the truck,” Sam says, eyes turning to look back out the window. “We’ll call them once we find it.”

Steve nods, slowing the Camaro slightly so he has time to look out of the window properly. There’s no movement around them, but there’s little light except for the whites of Steve’s headlights, and it’s quickly becoming darker as they continue to meander fully into the rows of parked semis.

A few tense seconds pass where all of them are carefully assessing each of the semis, and then Sharon’s perking up and sitting fully in the backseat, saying abruptly, “Steve, it’s this one.”

Steve stops the car immediately, turning his head to look at the semi she’s pointing out. It’s definitely beige, but it doesn’t look all that different from the many other semis resting innocuously near it.

“Are you sure?” he asks, glancing back at Sharon in the rearview again.

She nods, moving to gather all of her hair into her hands as she begins pulling it back and out of her face into a ponytail. “Yeah, the plate matches.”

Steve puts the car in park, turning to Sam and grabbing their radio. “This is Detectives Rogers and Wilson, requesting back-up to the truck stop at mile-marker one-two-five.”

“Confirming mile marker one-two-five,” a dispatcher’s voice echoes back at them. “Sending back-up.”

“It looks empty,” Sharon says after Steve puts the radio back down, grabbing a flashlight and shining it towards the back of the semi.

“Sharon,” Sam hisses, turning around and moving to grab the flashlight from her. “We don’t want to let this guy know we’re here.”

She turns the flashlight off, handing it to him with a sheepish smile. “Right, sorry.”

Sam takes it from her, huffing, but looks out Steve’s window towards the semi with a contemplative expression that makes his eyes squint. “It does look like no one’s there.”

“You wanna check it out?” Steve asks, turning back to look at him.

“Back up’s on the way,” Sam shrugs. “Can’t hurt anything, right?”

“Natasha said to keep the perimeter,” Steve reminds him, but he moves to grab his gun, flicking the safety off.

“What Natasha doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Sam replies gruffly, grabbing his own gun and the flashlight in his lap. “Coulson and Parker were right behind us, man. They should be here any second. The best thing we could do right now is apprehend this guy before he’s tipped off that the entire New York field office of the FBI is on his trail.”

Steve just shrugs, moving to open the car door. He stands fully, closing the door softly and moving his gun into position. Sam rounds the front of the car a second later, and they both make their way to the rear of the semi. Sharon follows, setting her forensic case against the back wheel of the semi and bring her own gun up quickly.

Sam steps in front of the hatch, glancing back at Steve and Sharon to see if they’re ready. Steve nods, and Sam pulls down on the hatch sharply, tugging the door open.

The inside of the semi is pitch black, but both Sharon and Steve point their guns into the inside of it hastily, moving forward slowly. Sam steps back to shine his flashlight into the trailer, finger resting on the trigger of his gun.

Steve makes a quick sweep of what he can see from outside of the trailer in the darkness, then pockets his gun quickly and grabs a side rail to pull himself up into it. His gun’s immediately back out, and Sam throws the flashlight up to him.

The beam stretches out over the trailer, and Steve can see piles of scrap metal and wood leaned up against the walls of the semi. He carefully but quickly sweeps the trailer, looking for any signs of life with sharp eyes, and quietly mutters “Clear,” and walks further into the darkness.

There’s piles and piles of colorful rugs, some covered in plastic and others resting somewhat haphazardly on top of wooden panels and sheets of scrap metal, but Steve doesn’t see any of the guns as he sweeps his eyes over the trailer.

He hears Sam hoist himself into the trailer a moment later with a grunt, and then Sam’s turning around and politely offering his hand to Sharon to help her into the trailer.

Steve turns back around, moving the light around the dark alcove. Sam’s at his back a second later, gun pointed towards the rugs. Steve sees him look at the rugs with a weird look, then he says, “I was kind of expecting something with a little more color.”

“I don’t see any of those guns,” Steve says, shining his light around the ground again. “Someone’s already taken them.”

A muffled groan sounds at the far end of the trailer, and Steve’s turning around sharply to sweep his light back over towards Sharon. In the corner of the trailer, a rug moves again, and another grunt sounds as both detectives move hastily towards the corner, guns drawn and ready.

Sam moves in front of the rug, and Steve trains his gun right on the squirming movements before Sam leans down, ripping the rug harshly off the person underneath it.

A man rolls onto his back, still groaning loudly. There’s duct tape over his mouth, and his arms and legs are bound firmly together, completely restricting his movements.

Steve looks down at the man and sharply says, “Jack Rollins?”

The man grunts unintelligibly underneath the duct tape, and Steve looks up to Sam, who’s staring down at the suspect with his eyes squinted in confusion.

A loud metal sound reverberates through the trailer, and Steve whips the flash light up past Sharon’s shoulder in time to catch the trailer door being slammed shut, and the hatch clicks firmly into place.

Steve springs into action, running back towards the door and pushing against it harshly. Whoever’s on the other side of the door isn’t letting up, and Steve repeatedly smacks his hands against the metal, yelling loudly.

“Shit,” he growls, banging the door again. Sam’s still got his gun trained on the suspect, but he pounds a fist against his side of the trailer, huffing.

The distinct sound of a gun cocking on the outside of the door sends a chill down his spine, then Steve’s screaming, “Get down!” as bullets begin to fly through the walls of the trailer.

Steve grabs Sharon, the closest person to him, and pushes her harshly and hastily forward towards the back of the trailer, where he tackles her to the ground as one of the bullets barely misses his head.

The bullets come flying through the metal, the back speed of a machine gun and the force of an AK pounding through the metal and out the other side lightning fast. Steve can’t move his limbs, afraid to lift his head up to see if Sam’s gotten down to cover himself, as he moves to grip his gun firmly, still pressed right on top of Sharon’s small body.

“Sam!” Steve shouts over the noise of the onslaught of bullets.

“I’m good!” Sam shouts back, voice strained. Another bullet hits the wood right above Steve and Sharon, and Sharon yelps from underneath Steve’s body. “I’ve got Rollins!”

“Stay down!” Steve shouts back, finger resting on the trigger of his gun. He looks up towards the bullets, still careful to keep completely still, and it’s like everything begins moving around him in slow motion.

The bullets continue to fly through the trailer, the rapid sound of gunfire echoing in Steve’s ears. Suddenly, he’s back in Afghanistan again, body shielding one of his fellow soldiers like he’s shielding Sharon, and time stops. His heart pounds in his ears. His mouth tastes like blood.

_Fucking hell, Cap, we’re getting shit on!_

_Everybody stay down!_

Steve locks his limbs as panic surges and coils around his heart. _Jesus H. Christ, Cap, something’s gotta give._ _We’re fucking fucked!_ He feels like he’s choking on sand. He’s sweating through his shirt. _We don’t leave men behind. Everybody leave, now!_ Distantly, Steve thinks he can hear the sounds of a helicopter. Sirens thrum through the heartbeat in his ears.

Focus. _Up to our necks in shit, boys._ Focus. _Only stop shooting when the shit stops raining._ Focus. _See you on the other side, Cap!_

 _C’mon,_ Steve thinks to himself. He can’t let himself panic. He’s not in Afghanistan. He’s at a truck stop in New York, and if he doesn’t do anything now, he, Sam, and Sharon are going to die.

Focus.

Steve raises his gun up, aiming it towards one of the bullet holes, and squeezes the trigger. A trail of bullets stops abruptly, the other one continuing steadfast through the metal, but Steve can hear the sound of a heavy artillery weapon fall onto the ground, the distinct thump of a dead body follows only a second later.

The trail speeds up, and it’s closing in on Steve and Sharon. Five bullets imbed themselves in the scrap metal right above his head, and Steve closes his eyes, his heart racing. His grip tightens on Sharon, and his breathing picks up to the point of hyperventilation. He feels another bullet graze his shoulder, and he grunts at the explosion of pain.

_Jesus Christ, Steve, one of these days you’ll get hit where you can’t handle it any more. You got a death wish, Rogers?_

And that’s. . .that’s Bucky’s voice now. It’s not. . . _fuck._

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks distantly. _I’m sorry, Bucky._

Sam’s shouting something indistinctly, and Steve can feel Sharon’s body tremble underneath his.

 _It’ll happen fast,_ he thinks again, eyes screwed shut in pain. _Don’t be mad at me, Buck._

And then everything stops harshly. No gunfire, no more bullets flying into the trailer, and no more grazes. Their collective harsh panting sounds through the dark, fear thick in the metal trailer, and the sound of Rollins groaning into the silence.

“There’s another one out there,” Sam hisses, drawing his gun up.

_You’ve got a fire under your ass for no good reason, Steve. You’re gonna burn out this way._

Steve lifts his upper body off of Sharon, twisting so he can turn towards the door of the trailer. The metal gives way from the hatch, and Steve draws his gun up quickly, pointing it towards the door, ready to fire.

“It’s all good! It’s all good!” Steve hears, and he looks past a Persian rug in his line of vision to see Coulson and Parker, guns drawn but both sharing matching looks of reassurance.

Steve deflates, letting out a sigh and feeling his head loll forward.

The sound of police sirens reaches his ears clearly, and every shrill wail as they grow closer calms Steve’s erratic heart.

“You guys okay?” Coulson asks, and Steve moves to pull himself off Sharon, offering her a hand to help her stand. Sharon looks up at him with wide-eyes as both of her hands cling to the sleeve of his jacket.

Sam huffs, moving to his feet and leaning against the side of the trailer, still breathing heavily. “We’re good,” he says, leaning down and forcibly using both hands to tug Rollins to his feet.

Steve leads Sharon to the exit of the trailer with a hand on her shoulder, and she lets go of his sleeve as he accepts the hand Parker gives him, allowing the kid to help him out of the trailer.

“You’re bleeding, Steve,” Parker says, looking at Steve cautiously as his eyes run over the bloodied shoulder of his jacket.

“It’s just a graze,” Steve assures him, patting Parker’s shoulder in thanks. He turns to Sharon, helping her down and out the trailer with two hands on her waist.

Sam and Rollins follow out after her, and Rollins is immediately escorted to a squad car, hands still bound behind his back.

Steve moves towards the right side of the semi, still gripping his gun tightly, and rounds the corner to reveal two dead assailants, SH-IE7D guns resting at their sides.

“The rest of those guns are in those two SUVs over there,” Coulson replies, nodding his head towards the two cars parked in front of Rollins’s semi.

“Who are these guys?” Steve asks, holstering his own gun with a sigh.

“They’ve got to be working for Hydra, right?” Parker asks, leaning down and grabbing the two guns. “Why else would they have shot at three policemen?”

“To cover up what they’ve done,” Steve answers, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he takes a calming breath. “You’re probably going to have to autopsy them, Sharon. I think my bullet killed one of them.”

Sharon doesn’t respond, just looks down at the two men in front of her with a haunted look. She’s still trembling, hands shaking as she reaches up to pull her hair out the ponytail she’d put it in.

“Are you okay, Sharon?” Steve asks her, moving closer to make her look into his eyes. She looks up at him, startled.

She takes a deep breath, swallowing quickly before she nods and says quietly, “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Steve just nods at her, taking a step back. She’s probably just in shock, but Steve doesn’t want to overwhelm her, so he makes sure to stay in her view line but puts space between them so she has plenty of room to breathe.

“What the _hell_ did I say about _keeping the perimeter?_ ” a shrill voice sounds at the five of them suddenly, and Natasha walks up to them angrily, a stern glint in her eyes and her jaw clenched. She’s addressing all three of her subordinates, but her eyes are blazing at Sam, and she looks about ready to set him on fire with just the heat in her gaze alone.

“We saw an opportunity and took it, Lieutenant,” Sam says to her, standing tall even as his voice takes on a less-than-confident tone. “We had no way of knowing this was going to happen.”

“You three could have gotten seriously injured,” Natasha says sharply, eyes snapping to Steve. “And you’re bleeding. What happened to you?”

“I’m alright, Natasha,” Steve tells her, trying to sound steady and calm. He can’t even feel the pain anymore, but he knows as soon as the adrenaline leaves his system, he’s probably going to crash hard. “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.”

Natasha takes a deep breath, shaking her head angrily. “I am not going to lose the three best policemen this precinct has ever seen just because you all are incapable of _following orders_ ,” she tells him, whipping back around to glare at Sam.

“We’ve got the suspect in custody, Nat,” Sam tells her gently. “And we’ve recovered the guns. This is a win!”

Natasha continues to stare at him, scowling, before she sighs deeply, bringing a hand up to rub at her eyes. “All of you go home,” she says, but her voice is softer. “Get out of my sight before I write you up for insubordination.”

“We’ve got to question the suspect, Nat — ” Steve starts, but Natasha’s cold eyes snap to him, and he shuts his mouth quickly.

“I’m going to interview the suspect and get his confession. I want him out of our custody, now,” she says, turning to Coulson. “You’re welcome to join me, and then once I’ve finished, he’s no longer any of my concern.”

Coulson nods at her, polite smile resolutely on his lips. “Of course, Lieutenant. We’ve caused enough uproar here.”

She nods back at him, turning back to Steve with another glare. “And you,” she points at him. “Go get checked out by one of those ambulances over there. After you do that, go home. All of you.”

Steve just nods, keeping his mouth shut. He knows better than to argue with her when she’s like this.

“Take tomorrow off, too,” she says, and Sam and Steve eye her warily. She shrugs, looking unbothered. “You’ve all worked hard on this case, and it’s practically over. I’ve been running you ragged for weeks now. You guys deserve a break. Catch up on your case files when you come in on Friday,” Natasha tells them. “I’ll have a uni pack up these guys and the guns for you, Sharon. Someone else can do their autopsy for you, so don’t worry about that. We know what killed them.”

Sharon just blinks at Natasha, nodding slowly.

Natasha eyes each of them again, before turning on her heel and walking amorously back the way she came.

“I would not want to cross that woman,” Coulson says, watching as she disappears behind a squad car.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Sam replies, chuckling. “So, you better go with her before she comes back and drags you to the precinct by your ear.”

Coulson chuckles, but Sam looks at him sharply, brow raised. Coulson sobers quickly, nodding slightly and then takes off hastily after her.

Steve chuckles lightly at them, shaking his head. He turns back to Parker, who’s still standing next to them, looking a little out of place, and asks, “What took you guys so long to back us up? I thought you were right behind us.”

Parker runs his hands through his hair, sheepish. “We were, and then we accidentally took the wrong exit when we realized you weren’t in front of us anymore. It took us a few minutes to find this place once we realized our mistake.”

“And the other squad cars were following behind you two,” Steve continues, nodding, “so they followed you when you went the wrong way.”

Parker nods, flushing a little in embarrassment.

Sam chuckles at him, looking up from where he’d been typing something on his phone, and fixes Parker with a pointed look. “We’re lucky you showed up when you did. Thank you for being here for us.”

Parker just nods again, offering a shy smile. He motions behind himself to the SUV he and Coulson rode in, and says, “I’m going to follow them back to the precinct, see if I can help with the interview.”

“Make sure you don’t get lost on your way back,” Sam says, chuckling. Parker’s face turns a shade darker, and he nods.

“It was nice working with you, Parker,” Steve tells him, sticking his hand out.

Parker takes it, smiling slightly. “Thank you. You too, Steve.” He turns to Sam, nodding. “You as well, Sam. Enjoy your day off tomorrow, guys.”

Steve nods at him, watching as Parker follows along after Natasha and Coulson. Sam comes up next to him, gently patting Steve on the shoulder opposite his bullet graze and gives him a little shake.

“I’m sorry you got hurt, buddy. I shouldn’t have suggested that we apprehend Rollins without back-up. I’m sorry,” he says remorsefully.

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Sam. It’s not your fault. I’m fine. I promise.”

“Let’s get you checked out, man,” Sam replies, and Steve groans.

“It’s a graze, Sam. A flesh wound.”

“You heard Nat, Steve. I’m just making sure you follow her orders like a good little subordinate,” Sam says, and then starts pushing him towards a nearby ambulance.

Steve allows himself to be pushed, glancing back at Sharon, who’s moved away from the two dead corpses and started staring out into the night, the blue and red police lights reflecting somberly off of her face. Steve watches her for a moment, feeling his heart tug with empathy. He knows all too well what it’s like to be shot at, how traumatizing the first time can be. He’d barely been able to stop himself from panicking. Sharon’s only been on the team for three months now. It’s the first time she’s been in the direct line of fire. Steve gets it, but he also knows that she just needs some time to herself to collect her thoughts, for her to force her mind to realize that she’s alive and breathing.

Steve understands that, more than he should, but like all things that never last, that feeling also passes along.

Later, after he’s been manhandled into an ambulance by an overenthusiastic paramedic who's just finished applying an antibacterial cream onto his graze and beginning to stick a bandage over it, Steve’s mind flashes to Bucky, and he can’t help but let out a displeased sigh.

“Bucky’s going to be so mad at me when I get home,” he says to Sam, who’s loyally sat by him the entire time he’s been examined, waiting for Steve to be bandaged up so he can drive them home.

The paramedic finishes applying the bandage and hops out of the rear with a nod, moving along to another ambulance without another word.

Sam scoffs loudly in response, laughing sardonically. “Mad at you? He’s gonna be pissed at me, dude. Not even two hours ago he’d told me to watch out for you, and then you had to go and get yourself shot.”

Steve rolls his eyes, chuckling. “I did not get _shot_. The bullet barely grazed me. It’s little more than a scratch, Sam.”

“Well, anyway. . .” Sam trails off, eyes flickering over past Steve’s head. “Heads up.” He raises his eyebrows, and Steve turns his head to see where Sam’s looking.

It takes him a second to look past all of the cops and remaining FBI agents, but he undoubtedly sees Bucky, a stoic expression on his face, stalking up to the two of them, jaw hardened and eyes bright with frustration.

“You called him?” Steve asks with surprise. He’s not mad. He isn’t particularly looking forward to this lecture he knows he’s bound to receive, but his insides still light up when he catches Bucky’s gaze.

“I texted him earlier. You’re not supposed to drive under the influence of pain medication,” Sam deadpans, but the corners of his mouth curl up, like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling, and Steve shoves him lightly.

“They gave me one pill,” he replies, scoffing lightly. “And you did not need to call Bucky all the way down here for that.”

“Hey,” Sam says in mock offense, lightening his tone. “I was not about to get my throat ripped out the next time he saw me for letting you get hurt. Your boy’s not in control of his shift, dude. Now I’ve gotta be extra nice to him so that I don’t get my face clawed off. It’s self-preservation, man.”

Steve chuckles at him, shoving him again, and turns to watch as Bucky takes the next few steps towards the back of the ambulance he and Sam are sitting in, smiling softly.

“Hey, Buck,” he says quietly, trying not to let the goosebumps he feels creeping around his neck swelter over his naked torso. He’s clutching his white t-shirt in his lap, but the right shoulder of it is stained red with his blood, and he really doesn’t want to put it back on.

Bucky eyes the shirt in Steve’s hands, nostrils flared, before he lays a soft gray cotton long sleeve in Steve’s lap gingerly, and Steve beams at him, moving to pull it on.

His bandage crinkles, and pain erupts slightly over his wound, and he winces when he pulls the collar over his head, trying his best to stifle his grunt of pain.

“How bad is it?” Bucky asks, eyes unreadable as he stands with his arms crossed, still broody and statuesque.

Steve looks at him and grins. “Nothing I can’t handle, baby.”

Bucky scoffs at that, shaking his head slightly.

Steve looks around behind him, trying to catch any sign of Bucky’s bike parked somewhere beyond the ambulances and squad cars, and frowns when he doesn’t see it.

“Where's your bike, Buck?” he asks, looking at Bucky with confusion. “How did you get here?”

“Ran,” Bucky replies, shrugging nonchalantly even as he glares.

“Wait, really?” Sam asks, looking at Bucky with his eyes narrowed. “You ran all the way here?”

“Yes,” Bucky replies, fixing Sam with his own pinched look.

“With, like, two legs?” Sam continues, motioning with his hands. “Or did you actually get down on all four?”

“Sam,” Bucky snaps, a low growl in his throat. “Enough with the werewolf jokes. I’m really not in the mood.”

“Man,” Sam sighs dramatically. “I didn’t mean to let him get hurt! It was an accident. He was shielding Sharon, and the bullet just grazed him, okay?”

Bucky scowls at him, flexing his jaw, and moves forward to gently cup the back of Steve’s neck, stroking his thumb gently over the tendons he finds there despite his menacing expression. Steve feels that telltale rush of relief course through his veins, emulating at his wound, and when he looks down, the veins of Bucky’s right hand are oily black, disappearing behind the sleeve of his leather jacket, and Steve slumps against him graciously.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, looking up at his boyfriend and smiling privately. “I’m fine.” He’s not feeling any pain at all as his entire body relaxes and becomes pliant against Bucky’s.

Bucky’s eyes soften at Steve’s words, and his hand squeezes Steve’s neck reassuringly. The blackness leaves his veins slowly, and he moves forward to press a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, inhaling deeply so that Steve’s calming scent will flood his senses.

“Doesn't mean I like that you still got hurt,” he mutters, but there’s no bite behind it, and Steve grins again.

“It’s just a small graze, Buck,” he replies softly, hand coming up to rest at Bucky’s waist. “It’ll be all healed in no time.”

Bucky just grunts in response, continuing to rub over Steve’s neck in random patterns.

“Everyone here is going to think I’m a wimp,” Steve says, teasing. “Needing my boyfriend to come take me home when I barely got injured.”

“Nope,” Sam says, shaking his head confidently. “No one is looking over at you, man. You’re not that interesting. Besides, no one else knows that you’ve got an overprotective Alpha werewolf as a boyfriend who’d rip their head off if they so much as glared at you.”

Steve chuckles at that, can’t even spare the energy to pull away from the warmth of Bucky’s body to look around to make sure no one is overhearing their conversation. Bucky just hums against the top of Steve’s head, still inhaling deeply, and doesn’t deny any of what Sam’s said. If Steve’s honest, he knows Bucky would do that for him in a heartbeat if Steve ever asked him to.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sam says after a short pause, nudging Steve’s arm lightly. “I’m tired, man. We’ve both got some sleeping to catch up on, and we’ve got the day off tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’m spending the entire rest of tonight and tomorrow in bed.”

“Sounds like a reasonable plan,” Steve says nodding.

“You’ve got the day off tomorrow?” Bucky asks, moving back a little so he can look into Steve’s eyes with surprise.

“Yeah, Buck. I’m all yours until Friday,” Steve replies, grinning at the small glint of excitement in Bucky’s eyes.

It’s also Bucky’s day off tomorrow, and the thought of spending the entire day with him makes Steve’s heart swell.

“Good,” Bucky responds, smiling privately. “I’m not letting you leave our bed until you have to go back into work.”

Steve grins, moving to reply, but Sam makes a choking sound, groaning loudly. “God,” he complains, grimacing, “way too much information about your sex life.”

Steve just rolls his eyes at him, shoving him a third time, before they both get to their feet. Bucky stops him before he can move too far, raising an expectant eyebrow.

“Keys,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Buck,” Steve chuckles. “I’m really fine, I promise. I can drive us all home.”

Bucky doesn’t move, giving him another hard look, and stubbornly meets Steve’s eyes again. Steve sighs at his actions, begrudgingly pulling his keys out of his denim pocket, and places them in Bucky’s waiting palm, rolling his eyes fondly.

Bucky just grins at him smugly, moving to turn around and grab Steve’s hand, but Steve stops him. Bucky gives him a questioning look, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“You two go ahead,” Steve answers, motioning for them to continue. “I’m gonna get a few extra pain pills from that paramedic, just in case.”

“You have me,” Bucky replies, confused. Steve can practically read the _I thought you said you were fine_ right off of Bucky’s face with the way his eyes narrow suspiciously.

Steve just smiles at him patiently, repeats, “Just in case,” before Bucky nods acceptingly, moving to turn back around and walk with Sam around the ambulance towards the Camaro.

Steve turns back around, moving to grab his soiled NYPD jacket, and looks around for the paramedic. He finds him a second later, standing by another ambulance, and walks over to ask for more medication.

Once he’s got a few more pills in a little container, he turns back around to make his way back to his car and stops abruptly once he realizes he’s about to run right into Sharon.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, taking a little step back in surprise. She smiles at him, shaking her head.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, eyes brighter than they had been half an hour ago. “I just wanted to catch you before you left with Sam.”

Clearly, she hadn’t seen Bucky with them. This conversation would probably go differently if she had.

Steve just looks down at her, smiling politely. “Did you need something? Do you want a ride home?”

He doesn’t really want to think about Bucky and Sharon being in the same car together, especially when he doesn’t really have an explanation for how Bucky’s even here right now, without his bike or a car. He can’t, in good conscience, leave her if she really does need a ride home, though.

Thankfully, Sharon just shakes her head again, moving to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear a tad shyly. When she speaks again, her tone is nervous, but there’s an edge to her voice, like she’s trying to gear herself up to do something. “Oh, no. I’m going to stay and help the unis load up the bodies and hitch a ride back to the precinct. My car’s there,” she explains, shrugging. “I won’t be seeing you tomorrow, and I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Steve asks, smile slipping off his face as he eyes her seriously.

“For shielding me during that shooting,” Sharon replies, nodding back towards the bullet-ridden semi a few yards away. “If you hadn’t have protected me like that, there’s a good chance I would have ended up like those two over there.” She points to the two corpses by the semi, forever frozen in death.

“Oh, Sharon, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Steve says, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice by motioning absently into the air.

“Yes, I do,” she says, resolute. She looks back up into his eyes, and Steve can see the determination sharpen in them. “Normally, I’d try to make it a joke, say something I’ll end up reading too far into like ‘if you needed an excuse to lay on top of me, all you had to do was ask,’” she scoffs at herself, shaking her head again and Steve feels his face heat, “but it’s _you_ , you’re important, and you’re the one who was levelheaded enough to protect me. I was really scared, but you made it better.”

“Sharon — ” Steve starts, embarrassed. He knows Bucky can hear them, and his heart picks up slightly when he realizes what this must sound like to Bucky.

“So, thank you,” Sharon finishes, taking a deep breath. She stares up at him with a determined look, before taking a step forward quickly, and before Steve can move, she places an even quicker peck on his cheek, moving back and out of his face with the same pace she'd entered it with. “Have a good night, Steve. See you Friday.”

And then she’s turning on her heel, walking briskly back towards the other semi trucks. Steve watches her go, shocked. That is definitely _not_ what he thought was going to happen.

In all honesty, he should have expected this to come. Out of all places, though, it had to happen where his boyfriend could hear everything she was saying? And especially when he’s not in control of himself and gets downright hostile when anyone shows any kind of interest in Steve?

Another part of him is a little uncomfortable, no matter how sweet the gesture had been.

He turns and begins to walk back towards the Camaro, shoulders hunched and pace quick. He doesn’t know what to expect when he sees Bucky, but he really hopes Bucky doesn’t do anything rash.

The view of the Camaro comes into his eye line a moment later, and both Bucky and Sam are already inside of the car, waiting.

Steve can tell immediately when he slides into the passenger seat that Bucky’s not happy, and Sam hums along to the radio behind them, oblivious to the tension beginning to build in the car.

“Buck — ” Steve starts, but stops when no other words come to him.

Bucky’s eyes turn sharply to his, and Steve feels a flash of alarm run down his spine when he sees that Bucky’s eyes are Alpha red in the darkness of the car.

“I know it’s not a big deal,” Bucky’s quick to tell him, exhaling deeply as his fingers tighten on the wheel.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, suddenly alerted to what’s going on in the front seat. He looks over at Bucky confusedly, before his eyes widen and he gasps, “Holy shit, dude! Are you wolfing out right now?”

“Bucky,” Steve says calmly, placing a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and gently rubbing his thumb over the shirt.

“What happened?” Sam asks, turning to Steve.

“Sharon,” Bucky bites out, trying to hold back a growl, “kissed him.”

“On the cheek,” Steve says firmly, not wanting Sam or Bucky to think it was anything more than that, “as a thank you for trying to shield her from the bullets.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what it was,” Sam mutters, and Bucky turns back to him sharply, growling. Sam raises his arms up in a mock surrender, hastily replying, “I’m _kidding_ , Bucky.”

Bucky turns back around, hands clenching the wheel again as he growls, “I know I seem like a jealous asshole. It’s no excuse, but my wolf’s right at the surface. I can smell her all over you, Steve. It’s taking everything in me not to jump out of this car and track her down so I can rip her throat out.”

“Damn,” Sam says from the backseat, grimacing. “That’s what jealousy does to you, man?”

“Sam, you’re not helping,” Steve hisses to him, moving to place both hands on Bucky to try to get him to relax. “He’s like this right now because it’s got something to do with his control.”

“And because he’s jealous,” Sam says, pursing his lips. Bucky snaps around to him, snarling.

“Bucky, you don’t need to be jealous,” Steve says softly, getting Bucky to look at him.

“I know,” Bucky bites out, frustrated. “But my instincts are. . .” he pauses, before growling out, “all over the place.”

“Take a deep breath, baby,” Steve replies, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “I’m right here with you. You’ve gotta calm down, Buck.”

It takes a few minutes, but Bucky’s breathing eventually evens out, and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, opening them to reveal his gorgeous gray irises, all traces of the fluorescent red gone.

“We’ve got to figure out what’s causing this, Buck,” Steve says, running his hand up to stroke through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky sighs, leaning forward and starting the Camaro.

“Yeah, no shit,” Sam replies, scoffing lightly. “We’ve got to get you back under control, dude.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky mutters darkly, and then he’s putting the car in drive, steering them past the semis with a deep sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is un-beta'd and I've tried to catch any errors so I apologize if there are any mistakes! 
> 
> Our boys will finally get to spend some long awaited time together in the next chapter! See you all in a few days.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's chapter 8! Thanks so much for all of your continued support and praise. All of you are so amazing!
> 
> This chapter is slightly longer than my normal chapters, but I didn't see a reason to break it up into two shorter chapters. Regardless, I hope you enjoy reading about these two finally talking some things out and spending time together. There's a lot of information coming at you in this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading!

_“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved; in secret, between the shadow and the soul.” — Pablo Neruda_

The next morning, Steve blinks up at the ceiling blearily, squinting his eyes in the sunlight as he moves his head out the gray rays. He can hear the distinct sound of soft rain patter echoing off the window, and he snuggles further down in bed, sighing contentedly.

He feels the bed dip below him on the left side, and an arm settles around his waist as he opens his eyes again. Bucky’s leaning above him, smiling softly, eyes bright and warm. All residual annoyance and jealousy from last night is clearly gone.

“Good morning,” he mutters, leaning down further as Steve brings his arms up to wrap them around Bucky’s neck.

“Morning,” Steve replies, voice still thick with sleep. He blinks a few more times, trying to rid the sleep from his eyes, and tightens his hold around Bucky. “What time is it?”

“Eight,” Bucky replies, placing a small kiss on Steve’s pulse point.

“What are you doing awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bucky chuckles, moving to kiss the other side of Steve’s neck. Steve exhales slowly, feeling warmth emulate through his bones. “You’re supposed to be catching up on sleep.”

“Come here, then, and I will,” Steve says, and Bucky grins at him as he moves to wrap his arms under Steve’s body, tugging. Bucky falls back on his side of the bed, pulling Steve close to his chest.

Steve sighs happily, cuddling into the warm skin of Bucky’s shirtless torso and closes his eyes.

“How’s your shoulder?” Bucky asks a couple of minutes later, and Steve shrugs a little, and the motion pulls at his wound and he exhales sharply at the burst of pain he feels.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it had last night, but there’s still some residual pain from the graze of the bullet. With the bullet moving that fast and strong, it’s no wonder he’s still feeling a deep ache around the wound, skin pulled taut around his shoulder blade.

Bucky runs the fingers of his right hand through Steve’s hair, and a second later Steve can see the veins of his left arm turn oily black from its place in front of Steve’s eyeline. Relief floods his system, making him immediately relaxed, and he gasps softly as the residual pain is quickly drawn from his wound.

Steve breathes deeply, wrapping his arms further around Bucky, and makes a pleased sound, placing a soft kiss on Bucky’s sternum.

“It’s better now that you’ve done that,” he replies, smiling against Bucky’s skin. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says, and Steve feels him kiss the top of his head, and Steve relaxes further against him, not holding back the weight of his body as his upper torso curls against Bucky’s. He knows Bucky is content to take his weight.

“Why are you up so early, Buck?” Steve asks, moving his head so they can look at each other. He knows he probably still looks rumpled and sleepy from just waking up, but he hopes he’s able to convey that he’s listening and cognizant of Bucky’s words, even though his body still aches from exhaustion.

Bucky looks down at him fondly, his affectionate gaze making Steve’s heart flutter, but he sighs softly, running his fingers through Steve’s hair again. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I’ve been up for almost two hours.”

“What?” Steve asks, shifting so he can look at Bucky head on. “Did you have another nightmare?” He’s suddenly hit with a wave of guilt. He’d been so tired last night that as soon as his head had hit the pillow, he’d been out like a light. He’d slept so deeply that he didn’t even register Bucky leaving their bed at some point in the early morning. And if Bucky’s had another nightmare, Steve wouldn’t have even known because he’d been asleep, and wouldn’t have been able to help him and comfort him, which is _awful_. “Bucky, I’m sorry — ” Steve starts, concerned and guilty, but Bucky rushes to stop him.

“I didn’t have a nightmare, baby,” he says, stroking the back of Steve’s neck soothingly to stop him from panicking. “I was tossing and turning all night, and I didn’t want to risk waking you up, so I went and moved to the couch. I slept for about three hours last night.”

Steve frowns. He doesn’t like that Bucky hadn’t been in bed with him last night. “What was keeping you up, Buck?”

Bucky sighs again, squeezing Steve’s neck. “The thought of this other werewolf that’s roaming around in my territory. He’s making my wolf defensive and anxious.”

“You should have woken me up, baby,” Steve says, placing another kiss on Bucky’s chest. “We could have talked about it.”

Bucky shakes his head, but he’s smiles softly, tightening his hold around Steve. “You needed to sleep. You still need to sleep.”

Steve huffs a little, overcome with the urge to roll his eyes even as a feeling of fondness swells in his chest at Bucky’s overprotectiveness.

“ _You_ need to sleep. Three hours is not enough,” Steve tells him disapprovingly. “Do you want to talk about it? About what we should do to try to get him to leave?”

Bucky shakes his head again, moving his hand down so he can rub lightly over Steve’s clothed back. “We can talk about it once you’ve woken up again.”

“But you need to sleep, too,” Steve counters, pushing himself up a little so he can give Bucky a stern look. “If you’re feeling anxious, we should talk about it so that you can relax enough to fall asleep, Buck.”

“I’m alright, Stevie,” Bucky tells him gently, hand still stroking Steve’s back. “You’re already helping me relax just by letting me hold you.”

Steve knows Bucky also means that Steve’s soothing scent is calming him down, so Steve relaxes against Bucky’s chest again, pressing his cheek to Bucky’s sternum.

“We’ll talk once you're more rested,” Bucky continues, hand running down Steve’s spine. When he gets to the hem of the long sleeve he’d brought Steve to change into last night at the truck stop, he pulls it up gently, working his hand up underneath the cotton so he can stroke softly against the bare skin of Steve’s lower back. The warmth of his hand has Steve grinning appreciatively. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? We’ve got all day today, and I meant what I said about not letting you leave this bed. You still smell too tired for my liking.”

Steve chuckles at that, but he sobers and asks, “Will you go back to sleep, too?”

Bucky nods, grinning at the exhaustion in Steve’s voice. Steve smiles against Bucky’s chest, relaxing into him and sighing contentedly again when Bucky continues to rub slow circles into his skin.

He’s asleep only minutes later.

When he wakes up again, Bucky’s side of their bed is empty. Steve rolls onto his back, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and runs a hand through his hair.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand, grabbing it. He doesn’t have any messages or notifications when he turns it on, which he’s grateful for, and he checks the time to see it’s very much later in the day, but still just a little past ten o’clock.

Their bedroom door is closed, but Steve can hear the soft footfalls of Bucky moving around in the kitchen, and when he glances out of the window again, all he sees is gray clouds, and the soft sound of rainfall lulls a contented sigh from him.

He sits up and gets out of bed, neglecting to make it because he’s not sure if they actually plan to climb back into it again, and opens their door, leaving it wide open as he walks towards the kitchen.

Bucky’s leaning against the counter when Steve walks in, sipping at a cup of coffee. He grins at Steve, moving to hand him another mug.

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling as he takes a sip.

“You look better,” Bucky replies, inhaling. “And you smell like your normal Stevie scent.”

Steve laughs at him, moving closer so Bucky can rest his hand on the small of his back. “Did you actually go back to sleep with me, or did you wait until I was knocked out to leave?”  
  
“I fell back asleep,” Bucky tells him. “I woke up like an hour ago. I was actually waiting for you to get up so I could show you something.”

Steve takes another sip to hide his frown, because Bucky’s technically only gotten a total of four hours of sleep, but he gives him a curious glance. “Show me what?”

Bucky sets his mug down, gently taking Steve’s hand and pulling him around the island. Steve continues to look at him confusedly, but Bucky just motions to the marble countertop.

There’s a wooden box sitting on top of it when Steve looks down at the marble, and he eyes it confusedly. It’s obviously old — worn down and graying in certain spots. It’s no bigger than the size of Steve’s forearm, and it’s got an etching carved into it that Steve has to strain his eyes to make out.

The words read _Lupus Vitae_ when Steve finally reads them, and carved underneath it in simple script is _Barnes._

“Buck,” Steve says, tracing his fingers over the letters, “is this — ”

“My family’s, yeah,” Bucky says, nodding. His voice is a little strained, though, taking on the melancholic and sad tone that he only gets when he talks about his family. He’s got a pinched look on his face as he stares down at the box, like just looking at the small object brings him pain. “This is the only thing, besides a few pictures, and my ma’s journals, that I have left here.”

“Bucky,” Steve repeats quietly, setting his mug down so he can rub his hand in between Bucky’s shoulder blades comfortingly.

Bucky rarely ever goes through his family’s belongings. He’s got a storage unit down in Manhattan full of old clothes, his first baby cradle, Rebecca’s stuffed animals and a wooden table she crafted herself when she was in middle school, more of his ma’s journals and her jewelry, and his dad’s collection of baseball cards. There are even more family photo albums full of smiling pictures of his family away on vacations, or his ma in front of the Trocadero, or his dad teaching him how to ride a bike, and pictures of him kissing his ma’s swollen belly when she was pregnant with his baby sister. He and Rebecca’s baby quilts that his ma had knitted for them when they were infants are hidden in the back of the unit, stored away and out of sight.

Bucky can’t bring himself to actually go into the unit. He’d put the down payment on it himself, moved all of the personal belongings from their burnt out house and into the unit, only grabbing a few photos, some of his ma’s journals, and apparently this wooden box that sits in front of him and Steve before he’d permanently closed the door.

He’s not been back inside the unit since, even though he and Steve had driven to Manhattan two and a half years ago because Bucky had wanted to show it to him, having finally opened up to Steve about his family’s murder.

Having something this personal as one of the last remembrances of his family that he’s actually held onto over the years resting here out on the marble countertop has not got to be easy for Bucky to let anyone see, yet here he is, showing it to Steve.

“I’m okay,” Bucky says, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Steve’s head in reassurance. “I needed to dig this out.”

“For what?” Steve asks gently, fingers tracing over the words again.

Bucky keeps all of the items he’d taken from the storage unit in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, and Steve has never disrespected Bucky’s space or betrayed his trust by opening the drawer and seeing the items inside. He’s always known that Bucky would tell him why these specific items are important to him, and there is no way Steve will rush that until Bucky is good and ready to show and tell him.

He’s always been curious, though. He’s yearned for years to understand this part of Bucky, to be clued in on his past like no one else has before. He’s seen the photographs Bucky chose to frame intermingle into Steve’s own pictures over various walls, mantles, and tables in their brownstone, but there’s still so many more he hasn’t seen, so many more memories he’s yet to understand.

Bucky moves, and Steve draws his hand away from the wooden box. Bucky opens it slowly, careful to remain delicate as he sets the lid on the side of the table gently.

Inside the box is a few old, folded up pieces of paper. There’s what looks to be a dried herb, and a small dangling crystal on a cord. Bucky picks up the papers and sets them on the table near the lid.

He moves again, picking up one of the leather gloves also sitting on the counter that Steve hadn’t seen from where he's standing next to Bucky. Bucky pulls one of the gloves on, then reaches his gloved hand inside the box, pulling out the herb. His nose wrinkles at, presumably, the smell of the herb, but when he turns back to Steve, all Steve smells is a mix between roses and lavender.

“This is the only thing, besides another werewolf, that can actually _hurt_ a werewolf,” Bucky says, moving the herb closer to Steve so he can see it.

It looks dried up and dead, but there’s still a pink hue to the top of the small flowers, though the stem and the petals have long since shriveled up.

“What is this?” Steve asks.

“Wolfsbane,” Bucky replies. “It’s harmful to us.”

“Harmful?” Steve repeats, looking down at the herb with disbelief.

Bucky takes a deep breath, then moves the herb so it runs parallel to his forearm. The sound of sizzling flesh shocks Steve, and he gasps as he looks down in alarm and sees that Bucky’s arm is actually _burning_ , the skin sweltering like acid was poured onto it and it’s melting away. Bucky snarls in pain, and the sound of his pained growl fills Steve with agony.

“Bucky — ” Steve says, alarmed, but Bucky pulls the herb away from his skin, and the burns begin to heal themselves on his forearm. His pale flesh knits itself back together quickly. In a matter of seconds, the skin on his arm looks completely normal and unscathed, and Steve grabs at his forearm hastily and strokes over the healed skin with his thumbs, his heart racing. “Why did you do that to yourself?”

Bucky inhales deeply, sitting the herb back in the box and grabbing Steve’s other arm soothingly. “Wolfsbane is toxic to werewolves. It hurts us when it makes contact with our skin. If we ingest it, it burns our insides and makes us too weak to use our strength. If it gets into our bloodstream, it can completely incapacitate us.”

“You hurt yourself,” Steve says quietly, rubbing his thumb over the veins of Bucky’s arm. His heart’s still beating too fast, but he can't make himself relax.

“I’m okay, Stevie. It only hurts until it’s away from my skin, or out of my system. I’m all healed up,” Bucky replies softly, moving his hand up so he can stroke Steve’s cheekbone comfortingly. “I wanted you to see what it does.”

“Why?”

“I want you to carry some of this with you, especially when I’m not around you,” Bucky replies, kissing Steve’s forehead. “I have more, but there’s another werewolf out there, Steve, and I’m not going to leave you unprotected and with no way to defend yourself.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, eyes quickly flickering down to the herb before he resolutely brings them back up to meet Bucky’s. “I don’t want to have anything on me that could hurt you like that. It looked like your skin was going to melt off.”

“Baby, it won’t hurt me unless you bring it into contact with my skin, or you try to do anything else with it against me,” Bucky replies, and the desperation in his voice makes Steve sigh again. “I want to protect you, Steve. I’m not letting this guy anywhere near you, but if he were to get his hands on you, you could defend yourself against him with this. If you get it on him, or into his system, you could literally incapacitate him, Steve.”

Steve just looks at Bucky with a resolute look, but Bucky stares back into his eyes, pleading. “Why are you telling me about this now?” Steve settles to ask.

“I didn’t see a need for it when I knew there weren’t any other werewolves in New York City and you were safe with me,” Bucky replies. “But now there’s an omega out there who’s directly challenged me, and he knows you’re the only weakness I have. I’m not going to try to control anything you do,” he says gently, but looks at Steve forcefully, “and even though I would like nothing more than for you to stay inside and safe here with me until I’ve found this guy and forced him to leave, I know that’s not going to happen,” Bucky assures him when Steve begins to frown. “I can’t always be with you, especially when you’re at work, and this wolfsbane can help protect you until I’m able to get to you. It’s just a precaution, baby. I’m not going to let that werewolf come anywhere near you, and I’m sure as hell not going to let him _hurt_ you.”

Steve takes another deep breath, glancing down at the wolfsbane again. He nods, though, and looks back up into Bucky’s waiting eyes. “Okay,” he says, still a tad reluctant. “I’ll keep it with me.”

“Thank you,” Bucky replies, and Steve can hear the relief in his voice as his hands begin stroking over Steve’s cheeks again. “And I know you don’t want to do anything to hurt me, but with the way I haven’t been in control of myself lately, I’ll feel better knowing you have a way to defend yourself against me. I just want to be cautious.”

“You’d never hurt me,” Steve replies, stubborn set to his jaw, eyes blazing into Bucky’s. He knows deep in his bones that Bucky would _never_ hurt him.

Bucky nods his head, kissing Steve’s forehead again. “No, I wouldn’t. I just want us to be careful.”

“Okay,” Steve says, nodding again. His eyes dance back to the box, and he nods towards the crystal still nestled inside of it. “What’s that?”

Bucky follows his gaze, then reaches over to pull the crystal out by the cord, holding it up. It glistens even in the cloudy light of the kitchen, and Steve stares at it questioningly, reaching out and touching it with his fingertips.

“This is a moonstone,” Bucky says, resting the crystal in Steve’s palm. “When you wear it, it interferes with a werewolf’s power of scent, so if you were to wear it, a werewolf couldn’t track you.”

“You want me to wear this, too, don’t you?” Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow up at Bucky.

Bucky grins, but looks down at the crystal in Steve’s hand, tilting his head. “Yes,” he answers, nodding. “The only downside to it is that this moonstone affects me, too. I won’t be able to track you, either.”

Steve glances up at that, surprised. “Then I’m not going to wear it.”

“Steve — ” Bucky starts, pleading tone slipping back into his voice, but Steve shakes his head firmly.

“No, Bucky,” he says, sighing. “If I were to actually be in danger, how would you be able to find me if you can’t track me? I’m capable of handling myself, but you know that it makes me feel better knowing that you’d be able to find me anywhere just by my scent. I’m not going to make it so that you can’t track me when something like that could happen.”

“It’s _not_ going to happen,” Bucky growls threateningly. “No one, and especially not some fucking omega, is going to take you away from me.” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I just want you to be safe, Steve. If that means I’m not able to scent you for a while, just until we get this guy to leave, then so be it.”

“’ _So be it’?”_ Steve repeats, scoffing lightly. He shakes his head, putting the moonstone back into the wooden box. “That’s what you’re going to say?”

Bucky huffs, crossing his arms. “Steve,” he says slowly, his words heavy, “your safety means everything to me. I’m not going to risk your protection just because you’re being naïve and dense.”

“Right,” Steve says harshly, leaning out of Bucky’s space sharply. “Because that’s what I am to you — a burden instead of your _boyfriend_.”

The sharp curl of smoke hits Bucky’s senses suddenly, and he inhales sharply, taking in more of the abhorrent scent of Steve’s anger. He steps back slightly, caught off guard, overwhelmed as the smoke floods his head in retribution.

“Steve — ” Bucky says, his hand automatically reaching out to comfort his boyfriend, to get that scent to disappear, to comfort him, but Steve just pulls back, his eyes pulled downward in desolation.

It’s like a slap to Bucky’s face, the way Steve flinches away from him, and Bucky blinks his eyes back to Steve’s in desperation, a haunted expression on his face. Steve doesn’t meet his gaze, just stares steadfast at the marble in front of them, stiff as a board as his body practically radiates indignation.

“Just — don’t,” Steve says, mouth twisted in displeasure. He takes another breath, then pushes himself away from the island, turning and stalking around the other side of it angrily, and then disappears out of the kitchen door without another word. Bucky hears their bedroom door close a moment later, and he slumps against the counter, placing his head in his hands.

Of course Steve wouldn’t want to wear the moonstone. He’s told Bucky multiple times that it makes him feel safe that Bucky could most likely find him anywhere just from his scent if something bad were to happen to him. How can Bucky ask Steve to do something like this and make himself feel unsafe?

He sighs deeply, frustrated with himself. He can hear Steve shuffling along in their bedroom, and the sound of the ensuite bathroom door opening spurs him into action.

Bucky opens their bedroom door quietly, closing it before he makes his way over to the bathroom. Steve’s brushing his teeth when Bucky leans against the doorframe, staring at his reflection angrily. The smell of smoke hits Bucky’s senses again, and his nostrils flare unceremoniously in response. His insides churn at the scent, making him spiral deeper into the guilt he feels, and he can’t help but wince slightly, trying not to grimace.

Steve jumps a little when he catches Bucky’s eyes in the mirror, clearly not having heard Bucky walk into their bedroom, and sighs loudly as he turns the water on and spits into the sink. He looks up at Bucky as he wipes his mouth off, crossing his arms stubbornly after he’s set the towel back down.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Bucky says pleadingly, careful still to keep his distance. He knows when Steve doesn’t want him near, and he’ll respect the distance Steve’s putting between them until Steve curls up in his arms again, even if it makes him feel awful and horrible as the space between them increases.

He can’t stand the thought of Steve being mad at him. The last thing he wants right now is for Steve to be angry with him. He’s never been able to handle it very well. His wolf is practically vibrating under his skin with the urge to hold Steve in his arms, to make him happy again.

Steve takes another deep breath in response, shaking his head. He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated but also doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re not a burden to me, baby. You’d _never_ be a burden to me,” Bucky continues, voice soft and supplicating. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”

“I don’t want to feel like you’re being forced to protect me, Bucky,” Steve replies, his jaw clenched. He exhales sharply, and Bucky sees him biting at the inside of his cheek again, something he always does to try to dispel his tension. “I know what you’re really saying. I know that I’m just a human — that I’m breakable and fragile in your eyes. But I told you that I can take care of myself. I’m not _naïve_ ,” and Bucky cringes at that, frowning even harder, “and I’m sure as hell not dense enough to _not_ know I don’t stand a chance against a werewolf.” He drops his arms, running a hand up through his hair. “Do you know how many times I’ve been in really bad situations where I could have died?” Bucky feels his heart clench painfully at that, and he feels his wolf howl mournfully. “And I’ve made it out alive out of all of them. Even the times in Afghanistan when I almost starved to death. Now, I get into these situations with Sam on a daily basis, and you know what calms me down the most when I think about the danger I’m in?” He pauses, and Bucky catches sight of the fire in his eyes. “Knowing that I have you to come home to every night, and knowing that you’d be able to keep me safe. Because you’d do everything you could to find me if something were to happen to me, and you can’t do that if I wear that stupid necklace.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathes out, feeling his whole body deflate. God, he’s been such an asshole.

Guilt tugs at his heart, and he suddenly feels a deep ache settle into his chest. How could he have been so inconsiderate to Steve’s feelings? All he ever wants to do is keep Steve safe, happy, and whole.

Fuck, but he’s an absolute idiot.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Bucky repeats again, voice heavy with regret. He swallows around the dry tongue in his mouth. “I didn’t even think about that, Steve. It didn’t even cross my mind that you wouldn’t want to wear that stupid fucking moonstone because it would make you feel unsafe. The last thing I want to do is make you feel exposed and vulnerable like that, like I wouldn’t be there for you when you needed me most. I love you so much, Steve, and I would do anything to make sure that you’re safe and protected. This crosses a line, and I get that now. I’m so sorry I even asked you to wear it.”

Steve looks into his eyes, and Bucky can see the way the walls he’s built up around him during their slight argument have begun to wither and crumble. He sighs deeply and pushes up from the bathroom counter, walking straight into the warmth of Bucky’s chest and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck tightly.

Bucky brings his hands up to rub at Steve’s back, gently moving his hands in circles as Steve buries his face into his neck.

“I don’t feel obligated to keep you protected, baby. I want to keep you safe because I love you and I care about you. I love you so fucking much and if anything were to happen to you, Steve. . .” Bucky trails off, closing his eyes tightly, unwilling to even acknowledge the thought of Steve getting hurt. “I would lose my fucking mind. I can’t live without you, baby. The thought of this omega hurting you makes me so fucking crazy and all I want to do is rip this guy apart with my claws. I’ve already lost the rest of my family, and I can’t lose you, too. I’m sorry for being so selfish. If I lost you. . .”

Bucky’s throat tightens and his arms pull Steve even closer into his chest. Bucky can’t even say the words out loud. If he lost Steve, it’d be like losing his family all over again, like his heart’s been ripped straight from his chest, leaving a gaping hole never to be filled again. Steve _is_ his family, the only family he’s got left. He’s the reason Bucky’s heart continues to beat in his chest. He’d _break_ if he lost Steve. There’d be no telling what he would do. He doesn’t even know if he would be able to _live_ if he lost Steve.

Images of the battered and beaten Steve from his nightmare two nights ago overcome him, rattling around his brain in warning, and he inhales shakily, shaking his head again.

“We don’t know what this werewolf is willing to do, Steve. I just wanted to protect you with the only ways I knew how. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Steve exhales deeply against the tendons of Bucky’s throat, and the arms around Bucky’s neck lose some of their traction and slip down so Steve can place his hands on either side of Bucky’s neck. He looks into Bucky’s eyes deeply, love and vulnerability glistening brightly behind his beautiful blue irises.

“I know how you are, Bucky. I know how hard it is for you to fight your protective instincts,” Steve says, his tone serious even as his eyes soften. “I’m not trying to berate or belittle you. I just want you to understand how I feel. I thought you only wanted to keep me safe because you don’t want this other werewolf to take what you consider to be your property, like you own me or something.”

“Steve — ” Bucky starts, eyes wide as he shakes his head in disbelief and surprise.

“I know _now_ that’s not what you were doing,” Steve rushes to assure him, rubbing his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone in reassurance, trying to soothe him. “But it felt like that to me. I don’t ever want to be a burden to you. And you don’t get to decide anything for me. We’re a team, Bucky. We talk about these things equally, and we’re going to get this other werewolf out of your territory _together._ ”

Bucky snaps his mouth shut, unable to form words for a moment. He didn’t even realize he was being that boneheaded, too stubborn to even see his mistake from Steve’s perspective, and now that he is, he doesn't even know what to think.

Steve’s just blew his mind wide open, and it leaves him befuddled and confused. Here he goes again, acting like an obstinate overprotective werewolf who’s too blinded by his fear of losing the one person he can’t live without to realize how much of a fucking scumbug boyfriend he’s been by doing the one thing he never wanted to do — force any type of decision on Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeats again, frowning hard. “I never want you to think I’m forcing you to do something. I don’t think you _belong_ to me, baby, and I hate that I made you feel like that. We _are_ a team. I’m so sorry I made you think that we weren’t.”

“I know you’ve been tense lately,” Steve says, leaning his forehead to rest against Bucky’s, “and you have every right to be. You’re trying to protect me, and I get it, but I’m not going to wear that moonstone, okay?”

Bucky nods, bringing his left hand up to cup it around Steve’s neck, stroking over his pulse point. “Okay.”

Smoke no longer swirls through his senses, and Steve’s calming natural scent pulls some of the guilt and frustration out from inside of his chest. He feels some of the tension that’s been constantly building in his body for the past month completely leave his stiff shoulders, like a weight’s being lifted off them now that he knows that Steve’s not mad at him. He knows Steve’s forgiven him.

Steve just strokes over Bucky’s cheekbone again and tilts his head slightly so he can press their lips together. All of the remaining apprehensiveness and anxiety completely drains out of Bucky as he’s left with the flood of tenderness and warmth at the feel of Steve’s lips on his, and Bucky can’t help but to draw Steve closer, soothed by the insistent pressure of his boyfriend’s mouth.

The overwhelming taste of peppermint on Steve’s lips only pulls Bucky further into him, the intoxicating kiss making his body thrum with electricity. Both of Bucky’s hands move to rest on either side of Steve’s throat, and the quick beats of his pulse under Bucky’s fingertips makes him feel content and happy as a tranquil feeling settles into his heart.

Bucky pulls back a little, not wanting to get lost in the feel of Steve’s lips against his until he knows that they’re both on the same page, that Steve’s not still feeling angry by Bucky’s actions.

“Are we okay?” he asks softly, forehead resting against Steve’s. He tries not to sound too guarded or resilient or stoic like he knows he can be sometimes. He needs Steve to know how sorry he is.

Steve nods against him, giving Bucky a soft smile. “Yeah, Buck,” he says, running his right hand up from Bucky’s face so he can twist it into Bucky’s hair. “We’re okay.”

“Thank _fuck_ ,” Bucky says a little dramatically, deflating, and Steve rolls his eyes fondly. Bucky’s not typically dramatic or lively about anything, preferring to stay out of the limelight as much as possible, but this is the side of him that he doesn’t let anyone else see — the side that lets his guard down, lets himself be vulnerable, where his brooding and stoic mask cracks a little and he lets more of the playful, lighthearted Bucky be exposed, the side that grovels at Steve’s feet because he hates it when Steve’s mad at him. The side only Steve gets to see.

Steve chuckles a little at him, but he’s got a smile on his face that he couldn’t drop if he tried.

He tightens his fingers in Bucky’s hair infinitesimally, and he feels Bucky move his head slightly so he can bring their lips together again. The warmth from Bucky’s still shirtless torso against his clothed chest makes him shiver. Bucky’s constant overheated skin draws Steve in further as his entire body ignites at the feel of Bucky’s lips on his, at the apology Bucky’s pressing into his lips. His head spins when Bucky bites gently at his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth when Steve’s breath hitches.

Bucky’s hands move from Steve’s throat to run down the sides of his ribs, and each gentle pass of his hands has Steve’s heartbeat increasing erratically as they settle onto his hips. Bucky grins at the sound of the sporadic beating of Steve’s heart, reveling in the way it makes his wolf keen.

Steve moves a little, bringing his hands down to push slightly at Bucky’s shoulders but doesn’t move them off as he follows. It’s a testament to how much Bucky trusts him that he goes along willingly towards the direction Steve’s moving him in, like he’s not a solid wall of impenetrable muscle that wouldn’t budge an inch if he didn’t want to. A thrill runs down Steve’s spine when Bucky continues moving back until his back collides with the bathroom wall next to the door, his half-hooded eyes searching Steve’s as he takes a deep breath, waiting.

Steve knows that Bucky’s probably not trying to assume anything, even though the glint in his eyes isn’t anything but hopeful and slightly flirty. Judging by the way he looks right now — his eyes deliberately sweeping over Steve’s lips like he can’t help himself — he wants everything Steve’s willing to give him. He might be slightly stunned and a little confused at how things are starting to go (and Steve’s a little shocked, too) but he’s not going to put a stop to it. He’s completely at Steve’s mercy in this moment, completely content to follow Steve’s lead.

Steve crowds against him, tenderly pressing their lips together again. Bucky’s hands come back to rest against his hips again, pulling so that Steve’s pressed against him completely as their bodies slot together like missing pieces.

Bucky’s breathing picks up when Steve deepens the kiss, biting down hotly at Bucky’s lower lip as he begins to make hot little noises in the back of his throat and curls his tongue against Bucky’s.

When Steve pulls back to begin mouthing down along Bucky’s jaw and throat, Bucky’s head smacks hard against the wall to allow Steve better access, but neither one of them break apart as they steadily get more and more worked up. He groans when Steve sucks a mark into the right side of his throat, hands firmly squeezing at Steve’s waist.

His neck is one of the most sensitive areas on his body, like Steve, and when Steve gently bites at the skin over his pulse point, Bucky moans brokenly and his hands tighten on Steve’s hips as heat pools between his thighs.

Bucky’s eyes close as he revels in the feel of Steve’s lips on him, inhaling deeply. The scent of honey and cinnamon fills his senses and makes him hot with lust, and he growls approvingly at the smell of it. Steve kisses at Bucky’s throat, the patch of skin beneath his lips warm and flushed, and slides his left hand up Bucky’s ribs, his fingers trailing over one of Bucky’s nipples, over his erratic heart, towards his neck. The angle isn’t quite right and the position of his body slotted so tightly against Bucky’s makes his movements a little hard, but he still fans out his fingers into Bucky's hair, circles his neck more firmly to squeeze gently at the base of it, his thumb pressing into the thick tendon he finds there, and Bucky groans.

Steve’s mouth finds his again, and Bucky feels Steve whimper into the kiss wantonly, the sound of it making Bucky’s wolf practically howl with desire. The pressure of Steve’s body against his only makes Bucky crave more of him, more of his mouth, his kisses, the tender and loving touch of his hands. The scent of Steve’s arousal makes him feel lightheaded, like he’s so overcome with lust and desire from the just the smell of him that his knees might buckle underneath him.

Bucky can’t take it anymore. He moves his hands down from Steve’s waist, bending quickly so he can hook his hands around Steve’s thighs. He doesn’t disconnect their lips, too worked up now to act hesitant when Steve so blatantly isn’t, and feels Steve move both his arms around his neck to pull him even closer. Bucky just moves forward, pulling Steve’s body towards him, and then he’s lifting him up into the air, turning around so Steve’s the one with his back to the wall. Steve’s legs wrap around his waist immediately, and he lets out a moan when his back makes contact with the wall, the scent of his arousal hot in the air.

His arms fall from around Bucky’s neck so he can move his hands to either side of Bucky’s jawline, licking into his mouth hastily. Bucky kisses him back hotly, pushing Steve even further into the wall as his hands tighten around Steve’s thighs, unable to hold back another growl.

Steve’s hard beneath him, the jut of his dick pushing up against Bucky’s solid abdomen. He lets out another breathy moan at the friction, sliding his hips down again when Bucky just continues to press him into the wall, completely willing to hold him there and hungrily devour his lips.

Bucky moves to kiss down the left side of Steve’s neck, and when he moves his lips from Steve’s mouth, Steve immediately tilts his head to the side to allow Bucky better access to the long line of his throat, head thrown back against the wall as he pants breathily, clearly worked up and wanting more, needing Bucky closer.

When Bucky sucks on Steve’s pulse point, Steve shudders and his hips thrust down again. Bucky leans his entire body into him, careful still to make sure he’s not weighing Steve down or putting too much pressure on him. The way their bodies are pressed against each other, Steve’s entire weight resting down against Bucky’s, and the hard line of Bucky’s stomach, makes the perfect amount of friction between them, and Steve grinds down needily, gasping at the contact.

Everything Bucky does only heightens his arousal — the feel of Bucky’s own hard and aching dick nudging below his ass, the way Bucky’s gripping his thighs like he can’t help himself, the heat of his body caging Steve in and making him ache with anticipation, and the muscles of his arms flexing in a show of strength as he just continues to hold Steve against the wall like Steve weighs _nothing_ , making low, pleased noises in his throat that go straight to Steve’s dick. Bucky’s so fucking hot, and Steve feels like he’s going to explode as his blood turns molten.

Bucky groans when Steve grinds down on top of him, increasing the friction on his dick. He sucks at Steve's throat again, careful not to leave a mark, and trails his teeth up the long expanse of Steve’s neck. Steve whimpers at the feel of Bucky’s teeth, exhaling sharply. Bucky moves to nuzzle at the sensitive spot on Steve’s ear, and when he bites on it tenderly, Steve makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, fingers tightening on Bucky’s shoulders, and he feels himself leak into his briefs, overcome with arousal.

“Bucky,” Steve says breathily, his voice low, heavy with want and desire. “ _Fuck._ ”

The sound of his voice, deep with lust, has Bucky groaning again, and he can’t help but to thrust up against Steve’s ass, unable to hold back his own arousal.

Steve’s heart flutters with anticipation, his need for Bucky steadfast and hot in his veins. He wants Bucky’s hands all over him. He aches to feel Bucky deep inside him.

Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s shoulders, not hard enough to even remotely hurt him, but forceful enough so that Bucky pulls away from his neck quickly, staring up into Steve’s eyes. The way Bucky’s holding him against the wall forces Steve to look down to meet Bucky’s gaze, and the glisten in his eyes sends another wave of heat to pool between Steve’s legs. He bites back a whimper, feeling his cheeks begin to darken and his heartbeat pound heavily in his ears at Bucky’s heated look.

Bucky’s eyes are Alpha red, but they’re blown wide with lust as he looks up into Steve’s eyes with desire, breathing heavily. Steve looks down at his mouth, sees the cherry red of his lips slightly swollen from their kissing, and blushes deeper. Bucky looks so beautiful like this, staring up into Steve’s eyes heatedly, like he’s aching to get his mouth back on Steve _right now_.

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, his throat tight as he continues to pant. He squeezes at the skin of Bucky’s shoulders, moving his hands up the back of Bucky’s neck so he can bury his fingers in Bucky’s hair, gently tugging on the locks. Bucky growls, tightening his grip on Steve’s thighs, and then he’s pulling away from the wall and setting Steve down on top of the bathroom counter. Bucky moves right up against him, pushing his hips against Steve’s. Steve groans, his own hips snapping up to meet Bucky’s as he stares up at him wantonly, trying to convey everything he wants with his eyes when he can’t make himself form the words. Bucky’s hands move to Steve’s hips, then he’s running his fingers up Steve’s torso, over his muscular abs, and bringing the cotton long sleeve Steve’s still wearing with him as he moves his hands up Steve’s chest.

Bucky pulls the long sleeve off his arms impatiently, throwing it out of the way when Steve’s finally free of it, lips immediately latching onto Steve’s neck. Steve whimpers, hips thrusting up again as he moves his hands to Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer. Bucky grinds against him, groaning.

Steve tugs at Bucky’s waistband, pulling at his sweatpants until he’s able to move his fingers beneath them, hooking his thumbs into the soft cloth and pulling them down. Bucky doesn’t move back to help him, too distracted by biting at the sensitive spot underneath Steve’s ear, but groans hotly when his dick springs free of the sweats and slaps against his abdomen.

Steve doesn’t have time to push the sweatpants any further down than just below the curve of Bucky’s ass before Bucky’s pulling away from his neck and bringing their lips together again, licking into Steve’s mouth hotly as he grabs at Steve’s hips. Steve whimpers again, hips bucking forward to grind against Bucky’s dick, his body thrumming with heat. Bucky pulls at the waistband of Steve’s basketball shorts, and Steve just barely lifts his ass off the counter to help Bucky take them off before Bucky literally tears them off his hips and throws them in the direction of the long sleeve, peeling off his briefs in much of the same fashion and already moving so he can place his hand around Steve’s shaft.

Steve moans brokenly at the feel of Bucky’s hand on him, moving his own hands around Bucky’s hips so he can grip at his ass, pulling Bucky towards him needily, desperate to have Bucky closer, to feel every inch of him.

“Please,” Steve breathes out shakily, his entire body trembling with arousal. Bucky growls again, hand tightening around Steve’s shaft as he strokes him faster, red eyes burning into Steve’s as he breathes heavily and pants. Steve shudders beneath him, his breath hitching. He pushes up into Bucky’s fist, moving his head so he can run his lips over the shell of Bucky’s ear, and bites down on it when Bucky moans. “Want you,” Steve whispers into his ear, and Bucky whimpers, moving his hand off Steve’s aching dick so he can grip at Steve’s muscular thighs again, lifting him up into the air once more.

Steve’s back collides with the wall again, and he exhales a moan when he realizes that Bucky’s holding him up with only one hand, the other one moving in between his ass and the wall, where a slicked finger presses against his entrance, and then he’s choking off another whimper. They’ve got a bottle of lube hidden in one of their drawers in the bathroom, but Steve’s so caught up in his arousal that he doesn’t even know when Bucky had the time to grab it.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck again, trying to lift himself up so Bucky’s not taking all of his weight, and groans when Bucky rubs his finger over his hole, exhaling sharply as Bucky spreads the lube over his rim.

“Don’t need that,” Steve chokes out, trying not to whimper. He’s still loose and open from last night, where Bucky had licked him open in the shower after they’d gotten back from the truck stop, too worked up to go to sleep just yet. “Need _you_.”

Bucky just growls again hotly, shaking his head as he buries his face in Steve’s throat. He gently pushes his finger in, curling it up almost immediately. Steve moans at the feel of it, even as he slightly huffs exasperatedly at Bucky’s unwillingness to bring him any sort of discomfort. He should have known that Bucky would have been insistent on prepping Steve as thoroughly as possible. He never wants to hurt Steve. Bucky knows he’s. . . _endowed_. The last thing he wants to do is rush through this and end up causing Steve pain.

Steve clenches around the finger inside of him, shoving his hips down, and Bucky pulls his finger out quickly and pushes back in with a second one a moment later. Steve groans at the stretch, arching his back needily. Bucky gets to his knuckles before Steve exhales a tad sharply, and Bucky slows his movements a little. He lets Steve adjust, slowing thrusting his fingers in small increments, before Steve nods, and then Bucky increases his pace, curling the digits towards Steve’s prostate.

They’re both panting heavily, and after Bucky continues his onslaught for another few minutes, rubbing his fingers over Steve’s prostate almost teasingly, Steve throws his head back and looks down at Bucky with half hooded eyes, moaning pleadingly, “ _Bucky_.” A low noise sounds in Bucky’s throat, but he removes his fingers quickly and leans back, somehow uncapping the lube with one hand and gets the rest of his fingers wet before he throws the bottle back onto the bathroom counter. Steve groans at the sight of Bucky slicking himself up before Bucky braces his hand back against Steve’s thigh and gently presses himself against Steve’s hole, burying his face in Steve’s throat once more.

Steve whimpers when Bucky pushes in slightly, overwhelmed by the sensation. Bucky’s huge, and the angle he’s pushing in at has Steve seizing up a little. He probably should have let Bucky open him up more, but the feel of his boyfriend’s enormous dick pushing inside him just makes arousal coil in his stomach, and he rubs at the tendons of Bucky’s neck again softly, encouraging him to keep going, letting his head fall back against the wall again.

Bucky pulls his face out of Steve’s neck, looking up at him heatedly when Steve whimpers lowly in his throat, and moves his hands so he’s gripping Steve’s waist, changing the angle of his hips. He pushes in a little more, practically vibrating with the need to get Steve to fall apart around him, his entire body aching with desire for his boyfriend.

Steve gasps hotly when Bucky pushes into him completely, his eyes rolling back into his head when Bucky’s fully sheathed. His head’s spinning with arousal, lost in the feel of Bucky deep inside him as waves of heat wash over him.

It’s quiet for a second, both of them gazing into each other’s eyes — Bucky staring up at him and Steve meeting him with a half-hooded gaze from where his head’s still thrown back against the wall — when Bucky pulls his hips back a little before he thrusts in again, snapping back into Steve, and they both moan at the sensation, beyond turned on at the feel of their bodies moving together.

“Steve,” Bucky moans, and Steve whimpers at the desire in his voice.

Steve’s body trembles from the force of his need for Bucky, and he snaps his hips down to meet Bucky’s next thrust, unconsciously clenching around Bucky’s dick as they both move against each other, and Bucky growls loudly, Alpha red eyes bleeding a shade darker.

It feels charged between them, like every movement of Bucky inside him sets all of his nerve endings on fire. He’s desperate for more, writhing against the wall as Bucky thrusts up into him again. His need for Bucky is heavy in his veins, rushing through him until he feels like he’s drowning in molten fire.

Everything just leaves his mind then — their werewolf problem, their fight, Bucky’s jealousy over Sharon, the dull ache of his bullet graze, the thought of going back into work tomorrow when he wants nothing more than to curl up in Bucky’s arms and stay there forever — as he completely narrows in on Bucky, on the feel of Bucky pressed so deep and intimate inside him.

Bucky’s hands run up the sides of his ribs, and he wraps one arm around Steve’s wide shoulders and places his other hand on the base of Steve’s neck. Steve leans forward a little to meet him, tightening his arms around Bucky’s neck. Bucky moves them from the wall abruptly, stopping the movement of his hips, and Steve gasps as Bucky carries him out of the bathroom, still buried to the hilt inside him, and scrambles to move his arms more firmly around Bucky’s neck and tighten his legs around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky moves the arm from around Steve’s shoulders down further to Steve’s back so he can splay his fingers in the middle of Steve’s shoulder blades, before gently laying Steve down onto their unmade bed. He’s breathing heavily, a flush high on his cheeks, and he looks so fucking _beautiful_. He crouches over Steve, keening his hips forward slowly, and Steve groans, arching his back. 

Steve’s got a nice sheen of sweat working down his neck and chest, and Bucky leans down to lick at the side of his throat, grinding down again. Steve gasps when Bucky brushes against his prostate, trying to hold back a whimper as another wave of heat hits him, making him leak onto his sweaty abdomen.

Steve releases his hold on Bucky’s neck, but moves his hand to Bucky’s shoulder to gently push at him, and Bucky looks up quickly, his red eyes quizzical.

Steve doesn’t elaborate, too busy trying not to fall apart when Bucky presses deeper inside him again, and leans up a little, still pushing at Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky goes along with him when he realizes Steve’s not trying to push him off, hands coming to rest on Steve’s hips as he falls back slightly against the headboard. Steve settles on top of him, straddling Bucky’s waist and whimpers when Bucky’s dick twitches and shifts inside him.

“Like this,” he pants, shoving his hips down, and Bucky gasps as his head smacks back against the headboard like it had against the bathroom wall. He looks up at Steve with reverence, and the glint in his eyes has Steve moaning again.

“ _Steve,”_ Bucky groans, his hands tightening on Steve’s hips as Steve grinds down again, and they both moan as the angle of Steve’s hips has Bucky pushing up against Steve’s prostate.

Steve’s blush has spread down his chest now, and he’s gazing down at Bucky with a shy look even though his eyes are blown wide with lust and he’s panting heavily as he keeps working himself down onto Bucky’s dick. He’s always so fucking shy, even now after years of being together, as if he doesn’t know how sexy Bucky thinks he is, or how fucking beautiful he looks when he throws his head back and whimpers Bucky’s name. As if he’s not the one who practically flipped them over just so he could ride Bucky’s dick.

Bucky’s writhing underneath him though, groaning as Steve rocks on his knees, taking him in further. His eyelashes flutter when Bucky grazes his prostate again, and he exhales a high pitched moan. Bucky keeps his left hand on Steve’s hip as he drags his other hand up Steve’s side, circling around his nipple, which earns him a whimper, before he continues up along the side of Steve’s collarbone, finally stopping when he shifts his body further up towards the headboard so he can slip his hand into Steve’s hair. He tugs on the short locks, and Steve’s eyes snap to his, needy and wanton. He moves, leaning his weight forward a little, and then he’s thrusting down harder, faster, and Bucky can’t fucking handle it.

Bucky groans loudly, a low growl in his throat, and Steve shudders at the sound of it, throwing his head back as he arches his back sinuously. Bucky moans, leaning up further so he can mouth at the open space on Steve’s throat, and Steve’s thighs tighten around him, clinging to his waist as he clenches around Bucky, and Bucky’s wolf _howls_ at the spark of heat it sends through him.

He feels the sudden urge to bite down against the soft skin of Steve’s throat, and the thought of it makes his wolf keen. He’s so fucking turned on, lost in the feel of Steve wrapped around him and the scent of his arousal, that all he wants to do is just bite down, his wolf practically howling at him to _claim_.

Steve’s driving him crazy, and Bucky can’t fucking take it.

Bucky pulls himself away from Steve’s neck abruptly, shaking his head as he presses a dirty kiss to Steve’s lips, moaning when Steve clenches around him again. Steve shifts his hips, and he moans when Bucky’s dick presses into his prostate again, but even Bucky can tell he wants more, that he needs Bucky to bring him over the edge he’s struggling along.

Bucky quickly moves his hands to Steve’s hips again, and before Steve can blink, he’s being gently pushed down into the mattress, and Bucky’s bracketing his arms around him, gazing down at him lustfully like he’s the hottest thing Bucky’s ever seen.

Bucky’s somehow still inside him, and when he thrusts down deep into Steve, he grinds over Steve’s prostate, and Steve whimpers underneath him, hands pressing into Bucky’s face so he can pull Bucky down to kiss him. Bucky thrusts into him deeply, and Steve’s breath stutters in his chest, head falling back again as his back arches in pleasure. Bucky buries his face in Steve’s throat, growling into his ear as every sensual thrust has Bucky’s dick pushing right up into Steve’s prostate, and Steve can’t even _think_ anymore. The feel of Bucky deep inside him completely envelops him as thrill after thrill of white hot pleasure courses down his spine.

Bucky’s so fucking hot like this, holding him down and fucking into him like he’s desperate for it, and Steve cries out, unable to keep himself quiet.

“Bucky — ” he tries to get out, his breath hitching. He’s so worked up he can’t even find his voice. “ _Fuck._ ”

Bucky growls into his neck, lips latching onto Steve’s scent gland, where his arousal tastes so fucking sweet in Bucky’s mouth. He’s overcome with the urge to bite down again, and his canine fangs elongate helpfully, like his wolf’s encouraging him.

Steve whimpers loudly, blunt nails digging into Bucky’s shoulders as he shudders. Bucky tries to pull back, slowing his movements, because _what the fuck is happening to him?_ He’s buried to the hilt inside the person he loves most in this world, and all he can think about is biting him, claiming him. In the three years he’s been with Steve, he’s _never_ thought about biting him, about sinking his teeth into his scent gland.

Steve whines when Bucky stalls his hips, shoving his hips up to get him to move, and moves his hands completely around Bucky’s neck, winding his fingers into Bucky’s hair, and pulls him down. Bucky’s face presses in even closer to Steve’s scent gland, and he feels his own throat tighten.

Bucky can’t help himself, can’t handle the way Steve’s tight heat clenches around him again, or the way Steve’s panting heavily, neck bared against the mattress. Bucky thrusts deep into him, pistoning his hips, and it takes every ounce of his rapidly dwindling self control not to sink his teeth into Steve’s neck, to close his mouth completely.

He slaps his hand out towards the headboard, desperate to keep himself under control as Steve writhes beneath him. His hand closes around their wooden headboard, and he grips at it tightly again as Steve whimpers, “ _Bucky.”_

Steve’s entire body tenses then, his legs shaking around Bucky’s waist, ass clenching around Bucky’s dick, and blunt nails digging hotly down Bucky’s shoulder blades. He moans brokenly, whimpering as he comes between their bodies, painting his abdomen in white.

The smell of it drives Bucky wild, and the arousal thrumming through his veins coils in his stomach, and he’s thrusting into Steve once, twice more before he’s coming deep inside him, groaning around the canine fangs in his mouth as his entire body shakes with his desire to bite down into Steve’s throat, and Steve just runs his hands through Bucky’s hair soothingly, panting.

The headboard creaks under Bucky’s hand warningly, then he’s leaning forward in surprise when the wood gives way under his fingertips, and he looks towards his hand with a frown, only to see he’s gripping a pretty huge broken-off chunk of their headboard in his left hand.

Steve chuckles breathlessly when he sees the wood in Bucky’s hands, the vibrations from his laugh sending aftershock waves to Bucky’s dick, and Bucky groans, then growls as he looks to Steve, who’s eyeing him fondly.

If Steve’s freaked out by his red eyes or elongated canine fangs, he doesn’t show it. He just moves his hands to Bucky’s jawline, giving him an affectionate smile, even as Bucky pulls away from him slightly and drops the piece of the headboard abruptly, as if it had burned him.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks him softly, running his thumb along Bucky’s lower lip, eyes searching for any signs as to why Bucky’s putting space between them like this, especially when they’d just gone through an intense round of making love.

“I’m fine,” Bucky lies as he slurs around his canines, and he’s thankful Steve’s not a wolf so he can’t hear the lie from the slight blip in his racing heartbeat. He doesn’t even know how to talk to Steve about wanting to bite him, about claiming him like that. He feels. . .confused, mostly, because he doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he also feels fucking horrible. He would never bite Steve against his will. He’s never even thought about doing that before.

Steve just eyes him warily, looking towards the piece of wood again. “Are you sure?”

Bucky nods. “That was just. . .” He tries to come up with a word, but his head is still filled with cotton. “Intense.”

“I know,” Steve replies, fingertips lightly stroking over Bucky’s jawline. “You broke the headboard.”

Bucky looks down at the wood again, sighing. His head feels jumbled, like there’s too many thoughts racing through his head and not enough space for them in his brain.

“It’s okay, baby,” Steve says softly, misinterpreting Bucky’s sigh as he shifts closer to gently take Bucky’s face in his hands, to fucking soothe him for breaking their headboard when Bucky’s panicking inside because he _almost bit Steve_. Bucky shifts even further away from him as he backs away, pulling out of Steve entirely. He doesn’t trust himself anywhere near Steve’s throat, not when he’s still got his canines out.

Steve frowns at him, and fuck, he looks a little hurt by Bucky’s efforts to keep them separated. He doesn’t understand why Bucky’s suddenly acting like this, why he’s acting so guarded after they literally just _made love_.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbles, and it sounds even more unclear from around his canines. He closes his eyes briefly and concentrates, willing his canines to retract back into his gums. They slowly disappear, and Bucky feels his eyes start to dim, and he snaps them open quickly. He needs a level head right now, needs to figure out why this sudden urge to bite Steve has completely overcome his thoughts.

He pulls his sweats up around his dick a second later, and Steve watches him with another wary look, and Bucky doesn’t even need to scent the air to know how nervous and confused he is, can tell just from the way Steve’s suddenly tensing up uncomfortably on top of their blankets, shifting so he can pull the sheet over his naked body.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” Steve asks confusedly, and the sound of his voice, like he’s trying not to sound hurt and panicked, tugs on Bucky’s heart strings painfully. “Are you still upset about our argument?” A pause, and when Bucky doesn’t respond, Steve asks panickedly, “Did I — Did I do something?”

His voice goes a little shrill at the end of his sentence, and Bucky’s entire body recoils with guilt. He’s causing Steve to panic, and alarm bells sound through his head like a warning, his wolf practically growling at him to calm Steve down, to make it so he’s happy again.

If Bucky weren’t panicking, he’d think it was almost comical. Steve thinks he’s done something to hurt _him_ , when Bucky’s the one who _almost bit Steve against his will._

“No, baby, you didn’t do anything. I’m okay, sweetheart,” Bucky rushes to say, his body screaming with the urge to make Steve calm down, to get him to stop panicking.

He moves back towards Steve, his ability to keep himself under wraps be damned, and takes his boyfriend’s face in his hands, desperate to soothe his erratic heart, to apologize.

And then, of course, that’s when he sees it.

Bucky inhales sharply, guilt raging steadfast in his abdomen. He tilts Steve’s head back to get a better look, and Steve just goes along with him, utterly confused as he continues to stare at Bucky with a pained look, like he doesn’t understand what’s happening or what’s going on. Bucky tilts his head completely to the side, so Steve’s neck is bared, and it looks even worse from this angle, the stark discoloration of his pale skin making Bucky’s chest tighten.

There, on the side of Steve’s throat, are bruises ranging in color from dark red to purple, all the way from his clavicle to his jawline, and impossible to mistake for anything besides love bites.

Bucky didn’t end up biting him, sure, but the left side of Steve’s throat is absolutely _covered_ in hickies.

He looks like he got _mauled._

Steve’s going to _kill him_.

“What, Bucky? What?” Steve asks, hands coming up to tighten around Bucky’s wrists as he continues to sound confused. He’s not looking up at Bucky in panic anymore, but Bucky can tell that he’s freaked out, that Bucky’s behavior is making him worried.

Bucky remains silent, unable to form words. Seeing Steve’s neck covered in love bites like this, knowing that Bucky’s the one who’s marked him up like this, makes his wolf preen. He’s fucking proud of himself for doing this, and that’s actually really _fucking_ awful. Bucky knows Steve likes it when he leaves marks on him, but he’s always gently reminded Bucky to keep them hidden because it’s unprofessional to walk into a fucking _police station_ and be covered in love bites, and Bucky fucking _knows_ that. He knows that he’s basically gone and completely disregarded the one thing Steve’s asked of him when they’re deep into their love making just because he was blind in his haste to fucking _stop himself from biting Steve_. He feels fucking _awful._

And Steve’s just looking up at him with a frown, beyond confused, and he’s _still_ rubbing his thumbs against Bucky’s inner wrists, trying to _comfort_ _Bucky_ , even though he’s still freaked out and has no idea why Bucky’s looking at him like he’s just slapped Steve across the face.

“I — ” Bucky starts, but his throat tightens, and he can’t get the words out. He frowns, looks down at Steve cautiously, then gently moves his hands to pull the sheet off of Steve’s body. Steve lets his wrists go and allows himself to be pulled from the bed as he just watches Bucky carefully.

Bucky gently manhandles him into the bathroom and pulls him so that he’s right in front of the mirror above their sink. Steve gives him another look, but Bucky just looks towards the mirror, and Steve follows his gaze questioningly, and the moment Steve’s eyes find the bruises on his neck in the reflection of the mirror, he gasps audibly, his right hand flying up to gently run his fingertips over his throat.

Steve’s eyes follow the trail the bruises make down the column of his throat to his collarbone, face unreadable as he pokes at one of the discolorations gently, gasping at the slight throb as the bruise fades into his skin and then reappears a second later.

“Oh,” he says quietly, exhaling deeply, and Bucky can hear his heartbeat accelerate, the sound of it echoing in his ears.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky says, guilt seeping into his words. “I didn’t — I don’t know what — ”

He cuts himself off, making a low, revolted sound deep in his throat.

Steve’s eyes snap to his in the mirror, but Bucky doesn’t meet his gaze, can’t take his eyes off the marks on Steve’s throat. He’s got a pained and sorrowful look on his face, and Steve’s honestly shocked to see him look so upset, sad eyes dancing over the bruises as he stands perfectly still behind Steve.

It takes him a second to process, to come to terms with how Bucky’s looking at him. Bucky’s _miserable_ , looking over his neck with so much guilt in his eyes that Steve tries not to shake with the weight of it.

“It’s. . .” he trails off, the words stuck in his throat. He swallows harshly, still running his fingertips over the bruises, and tries again. “It’s okay, Bucky. I’m not — I’m not mad.”

Bucky’s eyes do meet his in the mirror then, and Steve’s not surprised when he’s met with the Alpha red of Bucky’s irises again. He turns around, dropping his hand from his neck so he can reach out to Bucky, trying to pull him closer, but Bucky doesn’t move, rooted to his place on the tile.

“Bucky, I promise it’s okay. I’m f — ”

“Do not say that you’re _fine_ with it,” Bucky says, his voice ice cold even as he looks at Steve with pleading eyes. “That’s not _fine_.”

Steve eyes him carefully, moving forward so he can grab Bucky’s face. “I _am_ fine with it. It’s kind of the worst possible spot, I’ll be honest,” Steve says, and Bucky sighs mournfully, keeping his head tilted down, “but I swear to you, Bucky, it’s okay.”

He moves to tilt Bucky’s face up again, and with another sigh, Bucky lets him, eyes looking into Steve’s guiltily when their faces meet.

“Baby. . .please,” Steve starts, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s, “don’t be upset. I’m not upset. I’ll have to try to cover them for work tomorrow, but, sweetheart, it’s not the end of the world. You got a little carried away, Buck. It happens. I’ve left worse marks on you before.”

“I heal quickly,” Bucky says quietly, letting Steve pull him closer. “It’s not the same. The marks you leave disappear in seconds.”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” Steve teases, lightly stroking his thumbs down Bucky’s cheeks. “I know you didn’t mean to leave them, but we were really caught up in each other, Bucky. If you didn’t have enhanced werewolf healing, you’d probably have scratch marks down your back.”

His words have Bucky grinning a little, and Bucky lets out another sigh, finally letting himself calm down a little, moving to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist.

“Don’t feel bad. It’s _hot_ , Bucky. Stop being upset,” Steve tells him softly, and Bucky’s grin widens a little, and he lifts his head up to press a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“I’m still sorry,” he says. “I went too far.” He hesitates, looking to Steve a little nervously. “You’re not mad?”

“No, baby, I’m not mad. You _did_ kind of use my neck as a chew toy, but I’m not mad,” Steve says, and even though he’s trying to be lighthearted and teasing, his words immediately have Bucky frowning again. “I didn’t even feel you marking me.”

Bucky tenses, his thoughts drifting back to how close he’d come to biting down onto Steve’s throat. He becomes stiff against Steve’s body, and Steve pulls back a little, confused.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, looking into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s suddenly overcome with guilt again, and his eyes flutter back to Steve’s neck, unable to stop his hands from clenching into fists from where he’s still got them on Steve’s hips. “Bucky, please talk to me, baby. Why are you acting like you’ve done something worse than just leaving a few hickies on me?”

“Because I almost did,” Bucky says, and he screws his eyes shut, willing himself to stay calm. He knows if he gets too upset, he’ll wolf out. He doesn’t trust himself right now, not when Steve’s still looking at him like he genuinely doesn’t think Bucky’s done anything wrong.

Steve moves away from him slightly, curling his body up a little. He’s trying to hide himself, Bucky knows, because he’s still completely naked from where he’s pressed against Bucky’s entire body. Steve’s probably getting the sense that this is something serious, that Bucky’s not just freaking out because he’s upset that he marked Steve in an incredibly visible place.

Steve’s eyes glance around the bathroom, trying to find his discarded clothing. This isn’t a conversation he wants to be naked for, not when Bucky’s looking so desperate and guilty, and especially when he’s still covered in his own come and can feel the evidence of their lovemaking slipping down his thighs. He pulls away from Bucky completely, moving so he can pick up his basketball shorts from the ground on the other side of the bathtub.

When he picks them up, he notices that they’re completely ripped in half, and then he realizes that he forgot Bucky ripped them off his legs in his haste to get Steve undressed, and his cheeks color a little. He finds his briefs and his long sleeve over by the shower and tugs them on quickly, making a face when both of the garments stick to him uncomfortably, before he turns to Bucky again, who’s leaning back against the counter of the sink and staring down at his feet, face carefully blank and stoic.

Bucky looks up when Steve faces him, his eyes no longer red, and sighs deeply. Steve just stares into Bucky’s eyes, waiting.

After a moment, when neither of them speak, Steve asks quietly, “What do you mean, Bucky? What did you almost do?”

Bucky shakes his head a little, bringing one of his hands up to run his fingers through his hair. It’s one of his tells. Bucky does that when he’s nervous.

He’s quiet for another minute, just looking at Steve. Steve stares back, crossing his arms as he waits.

“I almost bit you,” Bucky says a second later, swallowing audibly after he’s gotten the words out, like they tasted bitter on his tongue. “When you were riding me, and then I flipped us over, I almost bit you.”

Steve’s entire body freezes, and he stares at Bucky in shock. That’s definitely not what he thought Bucky was going to say.

He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say dies in his throat.

“Okay,” he says instead, biting the inside of his cheek.

Bucky’s eyes snap to his, and his jaw clenches tightly. “‘Okay’?” he repeats, his voice self-deprecating. “No, Steve. It’s not _okay._ ”

“Yeah, Bucky, I get that,” Steve responds, taking a deep breath. Bucky growls deep in his throat, but Steve knows it’s not directed at him, just at Bucky’s own discomfort.

“You wanted to _bite_ me?” Steve asks after another silent minute passes, trying to make himself process Bucky’s words, to understand what Bucky’s telling him.

“Yes.”

“You literally wanted to bite down _into my throat_?”

“Yes,” Bucky repeats harshly, growling again.

“Okay, I’m just — okay,” Steve breathes, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around it, that’s all.”

Bucky just remains silent, tense and defensive. He growls again, his entire body rigid, and Steve takes another deep breath, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat.

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I was just trying to understand what you were saying, baby. I don’t really know what else to say.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky says, and then his eyes turn guilty again, and he’s frowning once more. “You shouldn’t be apologizing. I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t even know why — ” he cuts himself off again, taking another breath. He’s shaking, Steve realizes, his hands trembling at his sides. “I almost bit you, Steve. Do you even realize what that means?”

“That you wanted to turn me into a werewolf?” Steve replies slowly, questioningly, and he’s immediately regretting the words when Bucky’s entire face falls and he growls miserably.

“No!” He says harshly, agonized, as his hands ball up at his side, his knuckles white. “I would never turn you against your will, you know that!”

“I know, I know,” Steve rushes to say, taking a step forward to try to reach out to comfort Bucky. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even know I was marking up your neck. That’s why I stopped moving. It was like my entire body was overcome with the urge to bite you, like my wolf was practically begging me to do it, and then my fucking canines were out, and I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never, _ever_ thought about that before, Steve. I promise. And I would never bite you without your consent. I don’t even _want_ to turn you, baby,” Bucky says, and he sounds so guilty, so abhorred by the thought of turning Steve without Steve’s permission that he’s beginning to wolf out because he’s so upset.

Steve rushes to him then, watches as Bucky’s canine fangs elongate again, how his claws sprout from his fingernails, and brings his hands to Bucky’s face, trying desperately to get Bucky to look at him.

“Baby, please, I know, sweetheart. Please calm down, Buck. You’re getting upset, baby, and I need you to take a deep breath.” Bucky must hear the growing panic in Steve’s voice, or see how Steve’s looking at Bucky worriedly as his eyes begin to bleed that familiar luminescent red, and he takes a deep breath like Steve had asked, digging his nails into his palms to shock his body.

Bucky flinches a little at the pain, keeping his fists closed as he screws his eyes shut. He continues to breathe deeply as Steve’s hands stroke over his face softly, trying to soothe him and calm him down. It takes a few more minutes, but Bucky slowly starts to relax against him; his canines disappear back into his gums, his claws retract slowly back into his fingernails, and when Bucky opens his eyes a couple of seconds later, the Alpha red fades from them, and Steve’s left staring worriedly into Bucky’s beautiful gray irises.

“Sorry,” Bucky says for what feels like the hundredth time this morning, breathing heavily. He looks into Steve’s eyes slowly, like he’s afraid of what Steve’s reaction is going to be to him, but Steve just leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips, shaking his head.

He lets Bucky go a moment later, though, watches as Bucky begins washing the blood off his hands in the sink. He dries his hands off with the same towel Steve had tossed back onto the counter earlier, and when he turns around again, his head’s downtrodden and his eyes are full of shame.

“Why did you want to bite me?” Steve asks after the silence becomes too much for him.

Bucky looks up at him, frowning, and Steve’s a little surprised when he sees Bucky’s eyes tighten with confusion.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, shaking his head. “It’s not because I wanted to turn you. I promise. I don’t know what came over me. It was like my wolf was desperate for it, Steve. I’ve never felt like that before.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says gently, moving so he can wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck. When he does, Bucky relaxes against him, burying his face into Steve’s neck and inhaling deeply, like he needs Steve’s scent to make him completely calm. “You didn’t actually bite me, Bucky. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

Bucky pulls away from him, looking into Steve’s eyes sharply. “It doesn’t scare you? That I almost forced that on you? It scares me. I can’t believe I — ”

“Bucky,” Steve cuts him off gently, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “I will never be scared of you. It’s disconcerting, I think, that you’ve suddenly got this urge when you’ve never had it before. But we’ll figure it out, baby. We always do.”

“How can you be so calm? I was freaking out, Steve. The thought of biting you. . .it made me feel so many things at once. I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to _hurt_ you.”

Steve kisses his forehead, sweeping his thumbs across the back of Bucky’s skull soothingly. “I know you don’t, Buck. I think this whole thing is just something to do with your control. We’ve still not figured out why you can’t really control yourself lately. Maybe it’s just the full moon,” he says softly, “but that’s still a week away, baby. You’ve never been this affected by a full moon before. I just think that maybe there’s something else we haven’t found yet, and maybe that’s why you’re feeling that urge.”

“When did you get so reasonable?” Bucky asks, and a small smile begins curling at his lips. Steve’s heart flutters at the sight of it, relieved to know Bucky’s not panicking anymore.

“I’ve picked up a thing or two while dating a werewolf,” Steve says seriously, and Bucky’s smile widens, “and one of them is that I’m the rational one in this relationship.”

Bucky laughs, moving his arms around Steve’s waist and pulling him closer to his chest. “Rational,” he repeats, scoffing mockingly. “Just because I’m overprotective of you doesn’t mean I’m not _rational_.”

“It totally does,” Steve argues, grinning at Bucky’s laughter, but Bucky gives him another wolfish smile, and then he leans in quickly, connecting their lips together again before Steve can continue.

They kiss for a minute, and Steve lets himself get lost in the feel of Bucky’s lips against his. He pulls back after a moment, and Bucky watches him, eyes bright and no longer guarded.

Steve hesitates before he speaks again, unsure if he should even ask what he wants to. It’s not that big of a deal, he knows, but Bucky’s kind of gotten into his head a little bit with so much talk about biting him, and he can’t stop his mind from wandering.

Against his better judgment, Steve bites his bottom lip, then looks into Bucky’s eyes, quietly asking, “You don’t want me to be like you, do you?”

“What? A werewolf?” Bucky asks, his eyes pinching as he narrows them confusedly at Steve. He’s clearly thrown by the change in conversation.

Steve nods, twirling his fingers in Bucky’s hair, feeling like he’s got a lump in his throat.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky says softly. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You just. . . kind of freaked out, I guess. Like turning me was a really bad thing. I just thought that maybe. . .you just don’t want me to be like you,” Steve replies, shrugging.

Bucky sighs, glancing down for a moment, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts. When he looks back up, his face is unreadable, but his eyes are hard and serious. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be a werewolf. If you want me to be completely honest,” he hesitates, but Steve nods again, and he continues. “It would be easier if you were one. I’d be less worried about hurting you all the time, about losing control of myself around you. You’d never get sick, never get seriously injured ever again. You wouldn’t be taken from me, in that way,” his voice softens, and Steve feels his heart skip a beat. “For me to give you the bite — to make you become what I am just so that I’ll never lose you — ” he cuts himself off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s the most selfish act I can imagine. I would do it for you, if you asked me to, but more than anything, I’d be changing you for myself. That’s the most selfish thing I could ever do. And it’s not what you want, because you would have asked me this sooner if you’d wanted me to give you the bite.”

Steve freezes. His fingers stop moving in Bucky’s hair, and he feels like his heart has stopped beating in his chest. He looks into Bucky’s eyes, frozen in Bucky’s arms.

He’s never actually _really_ thought about it, if he’s being honest with himself. He supposes Bucky’s reasoning is valid, though. It’s never occurred to him to ask Bucky before to turn him into a werewolf. Bucky’s right; that’s never been something that he’s wanted.

In a way, he understands Bucky’s perspective. It would probably be easier on Bucky if Steve were a werewolf. He wouldn’t have to constantly worry about Steve as much anymore, that he’d get hurt and injured and take weeks to heal. He wouldn’t have to hold himself back all the time when he’s around Steve, wouldn’t have to constantly try to keep his strength contained so he doesn’t accidentally break Steve in half if he falters for a split second. In their current situation, Steve wouldn’t need Bucky to protect him against their uninvited omega if he himself was a werewolf — he’d be stronger, faster, and could take care of himself. He’d be able to do the things Bucky does without a second thought.

But he’d also have to hide himself from the rest of the world. Bucky and Sam — the people he cares about most in the world, his _family_ — would know what he is, but everyone else wouldn’t. How would he be able to hide his strength from everyone else on the force? How could he justify knowing when a suspect is lying to him when he’d have no other proof than the blip in their heartbeats? How would he be able to cover up getting hurt — if he were _shot_ — so that no one would see his body healing faster than he could blink? Someone would notice. Someone wouldn’t hesitate to expose him. Bucky’s kept this secret from everyone for his entire life. Steve doesn’t know if he could do a good enough job at hiding it.

He can’t put himself in that kind of danger. He can’t put _Bucky_ in that kind of danger.

It’s just — being a werewolf is never something he’s considered. If he chose to become a werewolf, at this stage in his life, it wouldn’t be for himself, not because he wants to. It’d be for Bucky. And the thought of Bucky wanting him to become a werewolf makes him feel off kilter. Would Bucky prefer him as a werewolf instead of a breakable human? Would Bucky love him more if he were a werewolf?

Steve’s never thought of it like that. He’s always assumed that Bucky loves him for _him_ , not because of _what_ he is but because of _who_ he is.

Fuck, and Bucky thought he was being _selfish with Steve,_ because he loves him so much _._ Jesus Christ.

“I will never take that choice away from you, Steve. Whether or not you choose to become a werewolf is completely your choice. I won’t turn you just because I can’t stand the thought of losing you. What you are, human or werewolf, doesn’t matter to me. This,” he takes Steve’s face in his hands, pressing their lips together softly, “ _you_. You’re what matters to me.”

Steve’s stunned silent, all of his growing panic completely disappearing from him as Bucky’s words settle over him. How could he even think that Bucky would care about something like that? That Bucky wouldn’t love him regardless of what he was?

“I could get a swelled head listening to the way you talk about me,” Steve says, a tad breathless.

Bucky chuckles. “Will you answer a question for me?” he asks suddenly, still holding Steve’s face in his hands. “Honestly?”

Steve nods quickly, gazing into Bucky’s nervous eyes.

“You don’t want to be a werewolf.”

Steve’s heart stops in his chest again, and then his pulse accelerates quickly. He sighs. He feels like he’s been caught. He doesn’t want to upset Bucky by agreeing with him, but he knows Bucky would want to know how he feels.

Bucky waits, watching his face carefully and listening to Steve’s erratic heart, an unreadable expression on his face.

Steve doesn’t know if he should answer, if he should voice those fears he’d just dismissed. He doesn’t want to lie though, not to Bucky.

“That’s not a question,” Steve finally mutters.

Bucky looks down at their bodies, frowning, face carefully blank. “I was wondering why you feel that way,” he says.

“I don’t want you to. . . I don’t know — get mad at me, or — laugh, or — ”

Bucky’s eyes meet his, shocked. “Get mad? The last thing I would do right now is get mad at you, or laugh at you.”

“Promise?” Steve mumbles again.

“Yes,” Bucky replies, his eyes serious.

“It’s just. . .” Steve trails off, the words escaping him. “You’re amazing in everything that you do. The things you do on a daily basis — your strength, your senses, your enhanced reflexes — they’re all so amazing. Who wouldn’t want to do the things you could do? It’s just something that I’ve never really wanted. I don’t want to. . . change myself to make you love me more. I don’t want to become a werewolf just because you don’t like me as I am now.”

Bucky exhales sharply. “You’re worried I wouldn’t love you anymore if you stayed human?” he demands, and his voice sounds so confused, like he can’t even comprehend Steve’s words, why he would ever feel that way. Then, before Steve can answer, he shouts indignantly, “Steve!”

“I know it’s stupid — ”

“No, it’s not, baby,” Bucky says gently, shaking his head. “I don’t think you realize how much I love you, baby. I’m _in_ love with you, Steve. I don’t care if you ever want to become a werewolf or not. None of that will _ever_ matter to me. I love you as _you_ are. I’ll _always_ love you as you are.”

Steve knew Bucky would think his fears might be a little silly, but Steve can’t help but feel relieved. If Bucky will always love him because of who he is. . . well, that’s all that mattered, anyway, even if it does make him a little greedy.

The word _selfish_ suddenly makes his cheeks color.

“I like you too much as a human, anyway,” Bucky continues, staring into Steve’s eyes as he strokes his thumb over Steve’s jaw. More blood rushes to Steve’s cheeks at his teasing grin, and Bucky laughs gently. “The sound of your heart,” he sounds more serious now, but still smiles brightly, “your scent. They wouldn’t be as prominent if you were a werewolf. I’d go crazy if I couldn’t hear your heartbeat.”

“Well,” Steve says quietly, trying not to swoon with the way Bucky’s eyeing him lovingly, “that’s a relief.”

“I love you,” Bucky says, leaning down until their noses are touching, and Steve’s entire body feels electric at the touch.

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s lips, and then Bucky’s pressing their mouths against each other insistently, and, like always when they kiss, Steve feels his heart flutter in his chest as he’s pulled into Bucky’s overheated chest, and the entire world melts away around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a much deserved break for our boys! My goal was to make this soft and sweet, but of course I had to throw some angst in. 
> 
> Often times, I listened to music while I was writing my chapters to help set the tone for the chapter and encourage some new ideas as I wrote. With that being said, [here's the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HsvnD3IcUvo) I imagine playing while Bucky and Steve are against that bathroom wall together :) 
> 
> See you all soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thank you to everyone who continues to support this story by leaving me all of your wonderful comments and kudos! You all are so amazing. Here's to chapter 9! We've got a more normal sized chapter this time :)
> 
> This chapter, like all of my other chapters, is unbeta'd, and I am so sorry if there are a lot of errors in this. I've already written all of my chapters, but I proofread them before posting them as an added caution to make sure there aren't any errors, but I was watching The Walking Dead as I was editing this chapter and might have missed some things, but I think I've caught everything. Lmao. So sorry!
> 
> Also, this next week I will be moving into my apartment (finally!) for college, and that includes driving eight hours and moving all of my belongings into my and my roommates' new apartment. I will update this story again (Chapter 10) in a few days before I move, but next week is going to be busy for me, so I promise to update again (Chapter 11) when I can, but it shouldn't be more than about three or four days in between each update. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

_“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” — Mary Shelley_

It isn’t until the next day, while he’s sitting in his desk chair at work waiting for Sam to get in, that Steve realizes he and Bucky had never gotten around to talking about their omega problem, or how to force the said omega out of Bucky’s territory.

Bucky had been better for the rest of the day yesterday after he’d calmed himself down by trading lazy kisses in the bathroom with Steve for twenty minutes. It wasn’t until he’d been reassured by Steve again that Steve wasn’t mad at him for anything — their argument from that morning, the bruises on his neck, or feeling the urge to bite Steve — for him to completely relax and allow himself to be pulled into their enormous shower so he and Steve could clean themselves up.

When they’d gotten out of the shower, the bruises on Steve’s neck had looked even more red when he’d caught sight of them in the mirror. Bucky had eyed them warily, frowning, and Steve had rolled his eyes and pulled him into a quick kiss, telling him to stop looking so sad when they had the rest of the day to spend together after they’d broken apart.

Bucky had just huffed a little, smiling, before securing his towel around his waist and following Steve out of the bathroom.

Steve had meant it when he’d told Bucky he wasn’t mad about the bruises. He wasn’t exactly thrilled that Bucky had accidentally marked him in such an inconvenient place to cover, but he wasn’t _mad_. Secretly, the bruises actually made him feel hot all over, and a thrill went down his spine whenever he ran his fingertips over them. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Bucky that he found them arousing. Bucky had lost control of himself yet again, just for a split second, but in the most arousing way possible. Steve couldn’t get mad at him over that, not when he’s always liked it too much when Bucky marks him.

They’d both been hungry after they’d showered, so they’d dressed quickly and headed back out into the kitchen. Bucky had carefully moved the wooden box from the countertop out of the way, reminding Steve not to forget to take the wolfsbane still inside the box with him to work the next day, and started making pancakes.

It was technically still morning, anyway, even if they had gotten a later start to it than normal. When Steve had peaked over and looked into the sink, the basin was clear of the dishes they’d used two nights prior for their spaghetti dinner, and he grinned widely.

Bucky’s messy sometimes, so he forgets to pick up after himself if Steve doesn’t remind him, and Steve’s a neat freak. He always makes sure the kitchen is clean and the dishes are done before they go to bed, but Bucky had promised him that he’d clean everything up so he could get Steve to bed faster, and Steve’s relieved that he kept up his end of the deal.

Steve decides to go on a run an hour after they’ve eaten, and Bucky flat out refuses to let him go by himself, and Steve doesn’t argue, more than happy to let Bucky accompany him as they run through Prospect Park. It’s stopped raining, and everything is still damp and wet as they maneuver through various trails and bike paths. They end up running ten miles, and Bucky’s not even sweating and doesn’t seem remotely winded as they climb the steps back up to their apartment. He gives Steve a wide grin and unlocks their door and tells him Steve that he’d warned Steve that racing was a bad idea as Steve stares back at him with a mock glare. Steve, by extension, is panting heavily, he’s covered in sweat, his cheeks are flushed with exertion, and his muscles ache with fatigue as he snarks back that Bucky could have at least taken it easy on him. Bucky just gives him another wolfish grin as they both walk inside, laughing.

Steve had to wear a sweatshirt to try to cover the bruises on his neck while he ran, and when he peels it off, the undershirt he’s wearing sticks to him uncomfortably, so he takes that off, too. Those bruises are going to suck to try to cover tomorrow, but he pushes that thought to the back of his head as he heads for the shower once more.

The day had passed pretty quickly after that. They’d lazed around on the couch for a while, catching up on some of their T.V. shows, and Bucky had rubbed his back to soothe his aching muscles until he’d fallen asleep again.

For dinner that night, Bucky fixed up a quick meal of chicken and potatoes, and they ate together at the island again, talking to each other softly about the next upcoming week. They don’t have much planned besides attending Peggy’s wedding in the next couple of weeks, but Bucky’s steadily getting more and more bikes down at his garage, and he’s probably going to be busy in the upcoming week.

Steve’s and Sam’s case has ended, but he still has some filing to do for it, and it hasn’t escaped his mind that he still needs to have that talk with Sharon he’s been meaning to have with her. He’s probably also going to have to make a statement to Internal Affairs about discharging his weapon at the truck stop, but Natasha hadn’t seemed worried about the suspect’s autopsy or that they wouldn’t conclude that Steve’s judgement wasn’t sound, so he pushes that thought away for the rest of the night, content to hold on to the last few hours of his day off before he has to wake up early tomorrow.

He’s feeling good when he wakes up in the morning, and he snuggles deeper into Bucky’s arms for a few more minutes before he has to pull away so he can get in the shower. Bucky’s awake when he exits their bathroom fifteen minutes later, sleepily watching Steve from their bed as he props himself up against the broken headboard, eyes trailing over the bruises on Steve’s neck once more.

Steve decides the easiest way to try to cover his love bites is to wear the only fitted pull-over he owns and zip it up almost until the two sides of the collar meet in the middle. When he glances in the full length mirror in their closet, he sees that the bruises aren’t completely covered from where the peak of one peers out from beneath his collar, but he can’t do much more for hiding them, and he tells himself that anyone who just looks at him won’t be able to see the bruises on his neck unless they’re specifically looking for a hickey.

Bucky nods encouragingly when he sees Steve’s outfit, still looking a little guilty, and Steve smiles at him softly, moving to his nightstand so he can place his gun and holster on his waistband, then grabs his badge out and clips it onto his belt buckle. He walks to the other side of their bed, leans down to press a kiss to Bucky’s lip, and pulls back with a grin.

“I’ll see you later, Buck. Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Mmm,” Bucky hums tiredly, bringing his hand up so he can stroke along Steve’s cheekbone, giving him a private smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve mumbles back, pressing another kiss to Bucky’s lips again.

“Don’t forget your wolfsbane,” Bucky reminds him gently, and Steve just nods, trying not to chuckle. “Keep me updated. Call me if anything happens. I mean it, Steve.”

“I know, Buck, I will,” Steve tells him. He knows Bucky won’t feel comfortable letting him back out into the public until this omega is gone, when he doesn’t feel threatened by another werewolf in his territory.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay home?” Bucky asks, a frown creasing his forehead. He’s turned more serious now, slipping back into his normal brooding expression, even though he still looks incredibly tired. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m going to be fine, Buck. I promise you’ll be the first one to know if anything happens, even though I highly doubt Sam and I are going to be doing anything today but paperwork,” Steve says, and Bucky makes a sound in his throat, like he’s displeased but knows he can’t argue with Steve, not when he’s trying not to be controlling.

“I’m being too overprotective again, aren’t I?” Bucky mumbles, his frown deepening.

“A little,” Steve replies, but he chuckles, leaning forward so he can kiss Bucky’s lips again, “but I’m beyond used to it now.”

Bucky chuckles a little, moving his hand up to tangle into Steve’s hair and pull him closer. They both get lost in the feel of their mouths against each other for a few minutes, and when Steve pulls back, he’s breathing heavily, and he knows a blush is working its way across his cheeks.

When Bucky catches sight of his flush, he growls, giving Steve another kiss before he pulls away slightly, whispering against his lips, “You better leave now, baby, before I throw you back into this bed.”

His words send heat pooling between Steve’s thighs, and his blush deepens on his cheeks. He tries to laugh it off, so he doesn’t get too affected, but it comes out breathless.

Steve can’t help but to picture Bucky moving so he can pick Steve up and lay him back onto their bed, and his mind helpfully flashes back to yesterday morning, when Bucky had pressed him into the mattress and couldn’t stop himself from attacking Steve’s neck in love bites. The bruises on his neck suddenly throb, and a fresh wave of heat travels down his spine.

“Bucky. . .” he mumbles lowly, and Bucky growls again, pulling their mouths together once more.

He pulls back, even though Steve can tell he’s incredibly reluctant to do so, and huffs deeply. “Seriously, if I don’t let you go now, I’m not going to, Steve.”

“Okay, Buck,” Steve replies, smiling, and leans away from him, his eyes bright.

“Be safe, please,” Bucky says, and he’s serious again, looking into Steve’s eyes as his own harden.

“I always am, Buck,” Steve tells him softly, giving him a small grin. “I’ll see you later tonight, okay? Go back to sleep.”

Bucky gives him a sleepy frown as he pulls Steve forward so he can kiss his forehead, and mumbles, “Have a good day, baby.”

“You, too, grumpy. I’ll see you later,” Steve repeats, and Bucky lets him go with a mock roll of his eyes, and Steve gives him a wide grin, then disappears out of their bedroom door a second later.

His mind drifts as he drives into work, the wolfsbane he’d promised Bucky he’d keep with him tucked securely into one of his briefcase pockets. If he and Sam do end up actually leaving the precinct today for detective related incidents, Steve will probably have to sneak it out and put it into his pocket or something just to appease Bucky when he eventually asks if Steve kept it on him all day.

Steve knows that Bucky’s out of his mind with worry right now, that the only thing that’s bringing him any sort of calmness is that Steve has a way to defend himself, even though he’s highly dissatisfied that Steve even entertains the idea of going anywhere alone by himself when they have no idea who this werewolf is. Steve knows that if Bucky had his way, he’d be glued to Steve’s side if he so much as set foot outside their brownstone, following him around like a brooding and stoic bodyguard and growling at anyone who looked at him for too long.

Steve supposes that’s kind of how Bucky acts anyway, but Bucky’s feeling threatened, and he’s just trying to protect the person he loves. Steve gets that, more than words can say. It’d be hypocritical of him to disagree.

The thing is, though, if Bucky thought he could get away with it, and that Steve wouldn’t get angry at him over it, he’d probably try his best to keep Steve safe in their brownstone until he’d located the werewolf himself and eliminated the threat on his own, his promise to Steve about finding the omega together be damned.

Which is why they really need to sit down together and discuss what they're going to do about this omega problem, but the thought doesn’t even occur to him until he’s pulling into the precinct parking lot, having already arrived at work and left Bucky alone for the day.

Realistically, Steve knows that Bucky won’t go off and do something reckless without first consulting Steve on what he wants to do. Contrary to Steve’s belief that he’s the rational one in their relationship, he knows that Bucky thinks about things in a logical way and wouldn’t put Steve in a position of fear because Bucky charging headfirst into danger isn’t something Steve would ever feel comfortable with without talking about it first.

The problem, he knows, is that the part of Steve that constantly worries about Bucky and Bucky’s safety, similar to how Bucky constantly worries about Steve’s _everything_ , knows that Bucky’s not completely in control of himself right now. Steve knows that Bucky’s the strongest being on earth, knows that he can undoubtedly handle himself against a werewolf that’s not even half as strong as he is, but if Bucky’s so certain that this omega is going to do something to hurt Steve in order to get to him, all of Bucky’s rational and logical reasoning will completely leave him in his haste to keep Steve safe. No matter how physically strong Bucky is, Steve makes Bucky _vulnerable_. Which means he could just as easily get hurt like Steve can.

They need to figure out how to get this omega to leave as peacefully as possible. Bucky may be completely fine with risking himself and actually physically fighting this werewolf, but Steve is _not_. The thought of Bucky getting _hurt_ isn’t something he can handle, despite knowing that Bucky has supernatural healing. He doesn’t want Bucky to _ever_ get hurt.

They need to come up with a plan, and they need to do it fast.

He also knows he needs to speak with Natasha about how the FBI’s going to prosecute Jack Rollins, and what all he’d told her when she interrogated him. It’s got to lead back to Hydra somehow, and Steve’s sure this case will be the segway they need to start dismantling the corporation.

Even though he, Bucky, and Sam are dealing with an uninvited guest, he still has actual work to do, and he’ll be damned if this werewolf interferes with his job, too.

Which is where he is now, sitting at his desk as he impatiently waits for Sam so they can both ambush Natasha together.

Steve knows that any conversation he and Bucky have about getting the omega to leave needs to involve Sam, too. Now that he knows that he and Sam are part of Bucky’s pack, it’s incredibly important that Sam’s kept up to date about the situation they’re all in. He’s just as involved in this werewolf stuff as Steve and Bucky are, and Steve already knows he’d hate it if they’d tried to keep him out of it. He learned his lesson about keeping things from Sam way back in high school, when he’d neglected to tell him he’d signed on to join the Army. Sam had been _furious_ with him. He still holds it against Steve to this day. After he’d calmed down from his anger, he’d made Steve promise that they’d stop keeping secrets from each other, and they’ve both upheld that promise ever since.

Steve couldn’t keep information like this away from Sam, even if he wanted to _._ Not after he’d lied about Bucky being a werewolf for months before Sam had found out on his own. He won’t keep anything away from Sam again.

When Sam does eventually stroll through the precinct doors ten minutes later, he’s looking relaxed and well rested, a content expression on his face as he gives Steve a bright smile.

Steve grins back at him, chuckling when Sam sits down and exhales a long, over exaggerated, satisfied sigh as he kicks his legs up and onto his desk.

“I had the _best_ day off yesterday,” Sam says with a big smile.

Steve chuckles, swatting at his feet. “Get your feet off your desk, Sam. This is a place of business.”

Sam ignores him, chuckling. “How was your day, Steve? How’s the shoulder?”

“It doesn’t even hurt,” Steve tells him, moving his shoulder to prove his point. The movement shifts his collar out of the way, however, and Sam’s eyes track its movement, then he’s gasping loudly.

“Steve! Oh my, God! Your neck!” Sam says, and his eyes are wide as he moves to pull down Steve’s collar. When he sees more of the marks on Steve’s neck, his eyes practically bug out of his head, and he gasps again. “Jesus, man.”

“Stop it,” Steve says panickedly as he tries to get Sam to move away from him.

“ _Place of business_ , my ass,” Sam snorts, but allows Steve to push him away, crossing his arms as he raises an expectant brow. “You look like you got into a fight with a vacuum and the vacuum _won_.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling the collar back into its place. “Bucky got a little. . .carried away. We both did!” he says defensively when Sam begins to smirk.

“Do you _not_ know how to cover a hickey? Have I taught you nothing over the years that we’ve known each other?” Sam asks him, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “So, I take it you _did_ have a good day off yesterday then, huh?”

“Sam,” Steve says exasperatedly, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, man, I’m not making fun. More power to you. What you and Bucky get up to is none of my business,” Sam replies, grinning as he raises his hands in surrender. Steve moves to punch him on the shoulder, but Sam flinches away from him, his grin widening. “I cannot believe you came into work with hickies on your neck like some lovesick teenager.”

Steve groans. “Stop it.”

“I’m just messing with you, Steve,” Sam says, dropping his teasing tone. “He didn’t seriously mean to do that, though, right? You look like you got _mauled_.”

It’s Steve’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him, and Sam just gives him a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulders. “Leave my bruises alone. You wanna get into the nitty gritty stuff? Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that you’re seeing someone and keeping it from me,” Steve replies, crossing his arms.

Sam looks away from him quickly, eyes darting around the precinct as his cheeks begin to flush. Steve tries to hold back a knowing smile, and Sam turns to him, giving him a look.

“We’re really going to talk about this right now?”

“Hey,” Steve says, mock offended. “I’m just trying not to feel hurt by you hiding something from me.”

He’s only mildly joking, but Sam just eyes him apologetically, moving to rub his hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“I want to tell you, man. You know I do. It’s just. . .” he trails off, eyes glancing around the precinct again.

“Sam, it’s fine. I was just joking with you. If you don’t want to tell me who it is, I’m not going to pressure you. We just don’t really keep things like that away from each other — not that I’m accusing you of anything,” Steve adds hastily when Sam opens his mouth. Sam snaps his mouth shut with a nod after a moment, running his hand over his chin contemplatively, and motions for Steve to continue. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. I’ll get over it, I promise.”

“It’s not that, Steve,” Sam shakes his head. “I don’t want to keep it from you. It’s just really. . .new. And I don’t know how people would react to it.”

“You’d think I’d judge you for who you decide to be with?” Steve asks, and this time he does feel a little hurt, however unintentional Sam’s words had been.

Immediately, Sam’s shaking his head again. “No. Steve, no. I don’t think that at all. In fact, you’d probably be the only one here who’d support us, if I’m being honest.”

“Sam, that’s not true,” Steve argues.

“Yeah, I think it is, Steve. At least for the time being,” Sam says, and he sounds strained when he says it, like knowing that their colleagues wouldn’t support him and a person he’s entered a relationship with is something he’s resigned himself to.

“I know that feeling,” Steve tells him gently. He actually understands a little _too_ well. Steve doesn’t hide his relationship, and he wasn’t lying to Bucky when he’d told him that everyone in the precinct knows he’s in a serious relationship with a man. He knows exactly what Sam’s referring to — having their colleagues judge them because of who they decide to be with. “Anyone else’s opinion of who you’re with isn’t important,” he continues resolutely. “What _is_ important is whether or not this person makes you happy, Sam.”

“She does,” Sam says softly, a tiny grin tugging at his lips.

Steve feels himself grin at Sam’s words, and he brings a hand up to gently squeeze at Sam’s shoulder. “Then that’s the only thing that matters.”

Sam gives him a winning smile, his eyes bright as he chuckles a little, groaning mockingly, “You’re going to weasel it out of me, aren't you?”

Steve just gives him a grin, shrugging. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he repeats.

“If I didn’t think she’d kill me for telling you, I’d tell you right now,” Sam laughs, but Steve looks at him confusedly, tilting his head.

“How would she know?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “Is it someone we work with?”

Sam looks at him, surprised. He opens his mouth, but before he can reply, Steve hears, “Wilson! Rogers!,” and he and Sam both turn their heads over to the other side of the precinct, where Natasha’s leaning out of her office, eyes sharp as she watches them, before she shakes her head, then nods towards the inside of her office. “Come here.”

They both glance at each other, and Sam shrugs a little, a sheepish look settling over his face again, and stands. Steve follows a second later, glancing at Sam with a quizzical look before he sighs, following Sam to the other side of the precinct.

When they enter Natasha’s office, Steve can tell she’s not as relaxed as usual, eying them both with a hard curl to her mouth. She looks tense, a little disarrayed. It’s startling to Steve to see her so stiff. Natasha’s normally the epitome of professional when they’re at work, perfectly put together and poised. Seeing her like this, frustratedly running her fingers through her hair, puts Steve on edge.

“What took you both so long before you demanded to know how the interrogation went?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow at the both of them.

“I was waiting for Sam to get in before we ambushed you, Lieutenant,” Steve admits, crossing his arms. “You don’t look like you’ve got any good news.”

“Technically, I don’t really _have_ news,” Natasha sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Rollins helped us flush out some gunrunners.”

“We know that,” Sam says, his eyes pinching as he narrows them at her.

Natasha sighs again, moving to sit down at her desk. “He confessed to the murder of Bruce Banner, only after I’d threatened him with some obscure legal charges for bribery and fraud.”

“And is that confession corroborated with the evidence?” Steve asks, moving to sit on the spare chair in front of her desk. Sam perches himself on her sofa.

“His saliva and prints were all over the beer bottle used to obscure Bruce’s tattoo,” Natasha confirms, nodding. “He confessed to bringing the guns out to Banner’s cabin. When Bruce got a look at the guns, though, he knew they’d been stolen from the military. According to Rollins, Bruce offered to return all of the guns for him, anonymously, but Rollins was looking to sell his cargo. He shot Bruce to keep him silent.”

“And then wrapped his body in that shower curtain and halved him,” Sam finishes for her, shaking his head.

Natasha nods again, but then her jaw clenches. “He wouldn’t tell us who gave him the driving job. Most of the individuals Banner and Rollins had served with moved on to become contractors with Hydra, so Coulson and I know that it’s likely that someone from Hydra offered him the job.”

“Hydra’s already implicated, Nat,” Steve reminds her. “We just don’t know how far up that ladder goes.”

“He wouldn’t tell us,” Natasha says coldly, shaking her head. “I told him that I’d help him if he testified in court about who gave him the job, that I’d get the D.A. to shave a few years off his sentence.”

“And he didn’t agree to that?” Sam scoffs.

“Said he wanted immunity before he’d testify. This was a _violent_ crime. He’s the one who almost put those guns out on the street. There was no way I was letting him off that easy. I refused his request, but he got what he wanted anyway.”

“What?” Sam practically hisses, eyes bugging out of his head.

“Coulson pulled rank,” Natasha says, clenching her jaw again. “Said if Rollins could give the FBI names and all of his contacts, and it turned out to be something substantial, he’d get off completely.”

“Fucking _Coulson_ ,” Sam groans, placing his head in his hands in frustration.

“So, where does that leave us?” Steve asks, his own jaw clenched tight as he watches Natasha irritability.

“We can begin an official inquiry into Hydra Logistics,” Natasha says. “From our end, though, that leaves us with a whole lot of nothing. The FBI gets all the names of any individuals involved in the gun raid and the murder in Pakistan, and access to any personnel files of the Hydra employees. We can’t charge Alexander Pierce, or those working for him, with anything unless we find definitive evidence against them that doesn’t involve any of the information Rollins gives to the FBI.”

Steve and Sam both sigh collectively.

“What about his finances?” Steve asks, sitting up straight. “Or the corporations’? With his resources, he’s going to have to send those guns back to Pakistan. That’s got to be, like, half a million dollars to send them back, right?”

“Where are you going with this?” Natasha asks, eyeing him.

“If it takes half a million dollars to return them, how much do you think it cost him to bring those guns here?”

“You’re thinking we’ll be able to track him bringing those guns into the States, aren’t you? And then we can connect him to Bruce’s murder and the illegal exploitation of firearms, right?”

“Exactly,” Steve says. “That’d definitely be enough to bring Pierce down, and who knows what else we’ll find once he’s no longer in the way. We could bring the entire Hydra Corporation down.”

“You’d need a warrant to get a hold of his account information, Steve, and that’s assuming we’ll find something,” Natasha says, shaking her head at him.

“We won’t need a warrant if we have probable cause,” Steve argues.

“How do you suggest we do that?”

Steve sighs. He hadn’t planned that far.

“At the masquerade!” Sam says suddenly, and both Sam and Natasha look at him confusedly. “You know, the masquerade charity auction he holds every year. It’s on Wednesday. I keep up with the news,” Sam defends himself with a slight scoff, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“That could actually work,” Natasha says. “All we would need is a claim of him not giving the intended money to the charity he’s working with. If we look into his finances and don’t find anything, no harm done, right? It could be a mistake on our part.”

“So, we just go to the masquerade and implicate him in front of the public?” Steve asks. “We’d have to do it quietly.”

“We would,” Sam tells him. “We’d attend the masquerade. Go undercover. As soon as the check’s handed over to the charity, we intervene.”

“Are you both up for it?” Natasha asks, eyes flickering back and forth between them seriously.

“You trying to get out of going undercover, Lieutenant?” Steve asks, giving her a teasing smile.

Her face breaks out into a grin, and she shrugs her shoulders. “You bet your ass I’m coming along, Detective.”

“Great,” Sam says. “With the three of us going in, Pierce won’t stand a chance.” He moves to fist bump Steve, and Steve obliges him, chuckling.

“If we do this, we’re doing this equally,” Natasha says. “I’m not leaving one person on their own. I’ll ask Sharon to fill in.”

“Sharon?” Steve asks, confused.

“Do you have a problem involving Sharon, Steve?” Natasha asks, and even though her face is completely serious, her eyes twinkle with amusement, and Steve sighs.

“She’s a Forensic Expert, Nat. If we bring her undercover, she could get hurt. She doesn’t have the training for something like this,” Steve tells her, and Natasha nods at him, bringing her hands forward to entwine together on top of her desk.

“I’m not going to risk anyone’s safety, Steve,” Natasha says, more gently than he’d been expecting. “She’s going to be fine. We need someone who knows what to look for like we do, someone we can count on. I’m confident that she’ll be an asset to what we’re trying to do. If you’re worried about this turning into an actual date — ”

“A _date_?” Steve asks incredulously, shaking his head. “Why are you talking about a date?”

Natasha curls her lip in amusement. “We’re going to a masquerade ball, Steve.”

Steve just stares at her.

“We’ve got to have dates to look authentic, man,” Sam says, standing up and patting Steve on the shoulder like Steve’s purposefully being dense. “Everyone at this masquerade will be too busy with their own dates to look too closely for a couple of cops, but we’ve got to blend in, too.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says, leaning back into her desk chair.

“And I’m the one that gets to go on the fake undercover date with Sharon?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” Natasha answers simply. “Is there a problem with that, Detective?”

She eyes him meticulously, eyebrows raised. Her tone is completely serious, if only part genuine. He knows she’ll only go through with this if he’s comfortable with what she’s proposing, but a delay in obtaining Pierce’s finances could set them back enough that they’ll be right back to where they started — with nothing. They might not get another chance like this for a while.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. It’s not escaped his notice that neither Sam nor Natasha have mentioned the alternate solution to this partnership: having Sam attend the masquerade with Sharon. Steve doesn’t exactly want to pretend to go on a date with either Natasha or Sharon, but his choices are limited. No matter what he decides, they all still need to attend the masquerade. In the long run, Steve supposes, it’s not going to matter who he goes with anyway, so long as they retrieve the information they’re after.

Even if that means attending a ball with a person who is not his boyfriend, and who’s most likely got a slight crush on him.

Steve feels himself sigh again. He should have known something like this would happen sooner or later.

“I don’t have a problem with it at all, Lieutenant,” Steve finally replies, and Natasha gives him a nod, even though she doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“As long as you’re sure,” Natasha says, and when Steve nods, she gives them both a definitive shake of her head. “Then it’s settled. We can plan out everything once Sharon’s done running the DNA on the guns. You’ve got to meet with I.A. in two hours, Steve. She’ll probably be done around the same time as your meeting ends.”

Steve nods, standing up.

“Talk to you later, Nat,” Sam says to her, and both he and Steve leave her office swiftly, heading back to their desks.

“Man, I love going undercover,” Sam says to him once they’re sitting down again.

Steve gives him a look, huffing. “Easy for you to say. You’re going undercover with one of our best friends. _I’m_ the one that gets to tell Bucky I’m going on a date with Sharon to a _masquerade ball_.”

Sam grimaces, nodding. “Yeah, you may have gotten the short end of the stick here,” he concedes, and Steve can tell he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Tell me about it,” Steve mutters, and Sam does smile then, chuckling as they both begin to open up the remaining case files in front of them.

—

Steve and Sam both catch up on their paperwork in relative silence for the next two hours until he’s standing up and giving Sam a small smile as he heads towards the second level of the precinct for his meeting.

He’s a little nervous, even though he knows he probably doesn’t need to be. He’s always nervous when he meets with Internal Affairs.

His meeting with I.A. only lasts about fifteen minutes in total, though, and half of that time is spent talking about how amazing it was that he shielded Sharon with his entire body and only walked out of Rollins’s trailer with a bullet graze. Steve just gives the two officers a grin that doesn’t quite pass for congenial and nods along with them, answering any questions they throw at him about discharging his weapon.

Both officers tell him that he’s cleared and that his actions were sound, so he thanks them both and walks back to his desk, where Sam hasn’t moved from his own desk and is currently tossing peanut M&M’s into the air and catching them in his mouth.

Steve just shakes his head exasperatedly, moving to sit back down again, but Sam shakes his head, standing up from his desk.

“We’ve got to go back and talk with Natasha and Sharon,” Sam informs him when Steve just raises his eyebrows in question. Steve’s immediately fighting back a grimace, annoyance prickling across his skin, but he gives Sam a nod, turning around and following him back to Natasha’s office.

Sharon’s already seated in the chair Steve had been sitting in earlier when they both walk into Natasha’s office, and she and Natasha are both giggling softly when Sam shuts the door behind him and Steve.

Both women’s eyes snap to Steve and Sam as they take a seat on the sofa in the back of Natasha’s office, and Steve’s entire body recoils when he sees the look on Sharon’s face. She looks absolutely _delighted_ to see him, her eyes tracking him animatedly _._

There isn’t an ounce of trepidation in her gaze as she watches him. She doesn’t say anything to him as he settles in on the couch. His thoughts travel back to the kiss she’d given him on the cheek at the truck stop, about how nervous she’d been in doing so, but Steve sees no sign of that when he risks a glance at her. She won’t bring it up in front of Natasha and Sam, but Steve can see how she’s eyeing him, as if she’s gearing herself up like she had at the truck stop. She wants to talk to him about it. The thought makes his insides churn.

He schools his features, not wanting to show his annoyance, and looks towards Natasha, carefully avoiding Sharon’s almost predatory gaze.

“Everything good with I.A.?” Natasha asks him, leaning back against her chair. She looks much more relaxed and controlled than she had been two hours prior, and Steve’s already assuming she’s got some sort of plan of action for them by the way she’s tapping her short nails against the woodwork beneath her hand impatiently.

“All good,” Steve nods at her.

Natasha gives him a grin. “Great. I’ve already briefed Sharon on the masquerade. I think it would be wise for both couples to show up separately but only a few minutes apart. We need to reconvene once we’re inside.”

The word _couple_ makes Steve’s ire swell in his chest, and he continues to stare straight at Natasha. He can feel Sharon’s eyes on him, but he just nods again, biting the inside of his cheek.

“We’ve got to be smart about this,” he says. “We can’t go in blind. It’s a Pierce benefit. There’s going to be security everywhere.”

“We’re going to blend in,” Natasha tells him. “If anyone asks, Sam and I are investment bankers looking to negotiate business on behalf of the city. You and Sharon can say you're both a part of the charity’s foundation.”

“Is this ball open to the public?” Sharon asks.

“No,” Sam replies, shaking his head. “I didn’t think about that.” He glances towards Natasha. “We all need to be invited to get in. Steve’s right. There’s going to be security everywhere. If they suspect us of trespassing on their private event, or that we’re cops, they’ll kick us out. And Pierce will have even more of a reason to not cooperate with the police.”

“It’s a charity auction,” Sharon says confusedly. “How secure is this supposed to be?”  
  
“No, Sam’s right,” Natasha says. “The last thing we want to do is tip Pierce off. I can reach out to the D.A.’s office. They’re bound to get invited to something like this.”

“He knows who we are, too,” Steve adds. “You, me, and Sam interviewed him with federal agents. He might think we’re working with the FBI if he recognizes us. Sharon’s the only one he won’t know.”

“Then you can be the one to get the check, Sharon,” Natasha nods to her. “He won’t know you’re with the police. It’s a masquerade. As long as we keep our masks on, he won’t know who we are. After we have custody of the check, it won’t matter if he recognizes us after that.”

“What about weapons?” Sam asks.

“I don’t want us to go in unarmed,” Natasha says. “Just as a precaution. Alexander Pierce has friends in high places, and I don't want to risk what we’re planning getting back to him. Everything we’ve discussed here or any future discussion stays between the four of us.”

She eyes each of them seriously, and everyone nods.

Sam crinkles the package of M&M’s in his hand, and Steve glances at him curiously. Sam just shrugs, moving his hand so he can offer Steve the package. Steve chuckles lightly, taking the package and reaching inside before handing it back to Sam.

Natasha gives them a weird look, her eyes pinched, before she shakes her head and looks away, fixing her gaze on Sharon.

“Did you run those samples from the guns?” she asks, changing the subject. Steve perks up a little, leaning forward and finally risking a glance towards Sharon as he pops the chocolate into his mouth.

Sharon’s already looking at him when he brings his eyes to her, and she watches him for a second with a curious brow before she blinks, turning back to Natasha.

“Yes,” she answers. “And I got some weird results.”

“Did you take samples before everything went to the FBI?” Steve asks, eyes flickering to Natasha.

Natasha nods at him. “I had CSUs collect any fibers and traces from the guns, and some bullets to complete the ballistics report from the truck stop and Bruce’s cabin yesterday before Coulson and Parker took them. How weird were the results?” Natasha asks, narrowing her eyes at Sharon.

“Both calibers from the truck stop and Bruce’s cabin matched. All of the fibers from the guns also matched the Persian rugs found in the trailer of Rollins’s semi. The weird part though,” Sharon says, tapping on the tablet in front of her, “is the DNA that I was able to pull off a few of the guns.” She moves to hand the tablet to Natasha, and Natasha takes it from her, brows furrowed. “The DNA I pulled off four of those guns came back as cross-species.”

Steve’s head whips back to Sharon, and his eyes widen in shock. The only person he’s ever known that has cross-species DNA is Bucky. And Steve corrupted that DNA three and a half years ago. There’s no way he’d show up in the system now.

If it’s not his DNA that’s showing up in CODIS, then that means there’s another person out there with cross-species DNA.

Which means —

“I thought maybe the mass spectrometer might have just been dirty or something,” Sharon continues, unaware of Steve’s growing panic. “So, I cleaned it extensively, and then I ran the DNA again, and I got the same results. No hits in CODIS, and I couldn’t even tell you if this person was male or female with how badly it’s corrupted. But it’s on all four of those guns.”

“What the hell?” Natasha mutters, scrolling through the information on the tablet. She looks up after a moment, sighing. “Any prints?”

“I got a hit through AFIS, but the entire file is redacted,” Sharon replies, accepting the tablet Natasha hands to her.

“Well, that would explain it,” Natasha says. “All of those Hydra guys are pretty much ex-military right? So, we’re back to knowing that the person who gave Rollins the job was probably someone he knew from Hydra.”

Sharon frowns. Steve’s eyes follow her movements as she taps on the tablet again, swallowing around his dry tongue. “Rollins and Bruce were in the Marines, though, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha replies.

Sharon shakes her head. “The AFIS hit from the print I got was from the redacted file of someone who was in the United States Army.”

Steve’s entire body freezes.

Natasha looks at Sharon for a second, rapping her nails on top of her desk, before she shakes her head. “Regardless of the military branch, we know this person knew Rollins, works for Hydra, and is ex-military. We can eliminate everyone else from Bruce and Rollins’s division. The cross-species DNA doesn’t mean shit, though. And it’s probably an incorrect result. We can’t use that in court.”

“You may have to shell out some department funds for a new mass spectrometer then,” Sharon jokes, but Natasha just shakes her head.

“Try to contact whoever you can to get that file un-redacted,” she replies.

“Already on it, Lieutenant.”

Sam nudges Steve, and when Steve looks over at him, Sam’s giving him a look of confusion and concern. Steve’s entire body is tense and rigid, and his heart feels like it’s about to beat right out of his chest.

Sam raises his eyebrows, but Steve just shakes his head, his eyes wide. He feels the back of his neck break out into a cold sweat.

He can’t tell Sam anything right now, not when Natasha and Sharon can hear him.

The loud buzzing of his phone has him jumping slightly, and Steve swallows before he moves to take it out of his pocket. Both Natasha’s and Sam’s eyes track his movements, but Sharon’s looking at her tablet, engrossed in whatever it is she finds there.

Steve looks at the caller I.D. once he pulls the phone out of his pocket, and his heart skips a beat when he sees that Bucky’s calling him, but he’s still tense and stiff. He slides the button quickly, then brings the phone up to his ear, shakily answering, “Hello?,” and then clears his throat quickly before anyone can notice how his voice trembles.

His eyes glance towards Sam, who’s still watching him carefully, as Bucky answers, “Steve?” His voice is tight, and Steve’s immediately frowning at the anger in Bucky’s tone as he feels his heartbeat echo in his ears.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, and he can’t keep the panic from slipping into his words.

He hears Bucky growl down the phone, and the sound of it makes Steve’s heart stop. He knows both Sam and Natasha are still looking at him, and it takes everything in him to keep the panic off of his face and to remain sitting.

“The omega’s been to my garage,” Bucky bites out harshly. “I can smell him all over the fucking workshop.”

Steve’s blood runs cold, and his eyes immediately snap to Sam’s again. Whatever Sam reads on his face has his mouth twisting up discomfortingly, and he shoots a glance towards Natasha. Natasha just stares back confusedly, before her eyes track Steve’s face. Steve doesn’t even know if he’s holding back his panic anymore, but Natasha just watches him for a moment, before nodding her head towards the office door. A silent dismissal.

Steve’s up and off the couch in a second, shooting her a relieved look.

Sam follows after him, and Steve opens the office door and quickly walks back towards his desk, grabbing his briefcase and his car keys. Bucky’s still growling down the phone, and the harsh and menacing sounds of it only add to Steve’s panic. Bucky sounds like he’s seconds away from shifting, and Steve can’t let him run off yet, not before he tells Bucky what he knows.

“I need you here,” Bucky finally says after a few more seconds, and Steve nods even though he knows Bucky can’t see him.

Bucky’s garage is only about ten minutes away from the precinct, but Steve can get there in half that. He knows that Bucky needs to see that he’s safe and unharmed. If the omega was at Bucky’s garage, he could have easily made his way down to the precinct. He could have been this close to all of them this entire time, even before Bucky had smelled him on Steve.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Steve replies, and the only sound Bucky makes is a threatening noise low in his throat. Steve disconnects the call, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

Sam’s right behind him, and they both make their way towards Steve’s Camaro.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks lowly next to him, and Steve spares a quick glance around, but the sidewalk is empty.

He looks back at Sam, muttering, “The omega was at Bucky’s garage.”

Sam’s eyes widen, and he seems to realize what Steve’s not telling him. _The omega’s been near us this entire time._

“What are we going to do?” Sam asks as they reach the Camaro, and Steve just shakes his head as he unlocks the car and steps into the driver’s seat.

He throws his briefcase back towards the backseat and starts the car when Sam settles next to him.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Steve says, and they both buckle their seatbelts quickly. “That’s what we need to find out.”

Sam’s jaw clenches and Steve puts the car in drive, whipping the Camaro out of its spot and turning the wheel sharply.

“What had you looking so freaked out back there?” Sam asks, and Steve bites the inside of his cheek, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he shoots Sam another look out of the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t know for sure, but something deep inside of him is screaming at him that he’s right. All the information is coming together now, and honestly, it’s been in front of him for a few days now. Nothing is a coincidence, and he should have known this the second Bucky had growled that there was another werewolf in his territory, that the werewolf had scented Steve just so he could send a message that he wasn’t going away without a fight.

He’s been blind. He and Sam _both_ have been blind.

“I think I know who the omega is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliffhanger, huh? 
> 
> Things are really going to start picking up here soon! I'm really excited for you all to read the next couple of chapters! I'm so excited to post them! I've got a few things coming, and I can't wait for you guys to read! 
> 
> See you guys soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I'm finally taking a small break from packing to post this chapter! I've edited this chapter, but I'm so sorry if there are mistakes! These past few days have been crazy!
> 
> Thank you for all of your support and wonderful comments and kudos! I love reading all of your comments so much! 
> 
> As I said in the last chapter, my roommates and I are moving into a new apartment together for college this week, so the update for the next chapter (Chapter 11) might take me a little longer to post, but I promise I'll have it up in a few days. Thank you so much for reading! There's a lot coming at you in these next couple of updates! I hope you all enjoy reading!

_“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.” — George Carlin_

“What?” Sam says shrilly, and Steve knows that Sam’s looking over at him in surprise even as he keeps his eyes forward on the street, quickly switching lanes and cutting off a gray Kia.

The Kia honks behind him, but Steve just pushes down on the gas pedal harder.

“Why do you think you know who the omega is?” Sam asks. His voice is steady, demanding, but Steve knows he’s panicking slightly. His right hand is gripping the dashboard in front of him, bracing himself as Steve continues to swerve through the busy Brooklyn traffic, while his left hand balls into a fist against his thigh.

Steve glances out of the rearview mirror before switching lanes again, and when he jerks the wheel back quickly, his briefcase flies across the backseat and smacks harshly against the rear passenger side door.

“There’s cross-species DNA on four of the guns, Sam. Who do we know that has cross-species DNA?” Steve asks, trying to keep the annoyance from his tone. Sam’s not purposefully being dense, Steve knows, but Steve can’t help the fear that settles into his abdomen. He doesn’t want to lash out towards Sam, but he’s having trouble holding back his anger.

“Bucky,” Sam answers timidly. “But you destroyed his samples, like, almost four years ago, dude. Why would his DNA show up?”

“It wouldn’t,” Steve replies, pressing down on the pedal harder to make it through a yellow light. “It’s not his DNA that’s on the guns.”

Sam’s quiet for a second, but Steve doesn’t say anything, just turns the wheel sharply to turn left onto another street.

After a few more seconds, Sam inhales sharply, slamming his hand into the dashboard. “It’s the omega’s DNA, then, right? That’s why you freaked out. The omega works for Hydra,” he bites out harshly, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Steve replies.

“That could be anyone, Steve,” Sam says. “Hydra has hundreds of employees, and Sharon said the samples Natasha collected were too badly degraded to analyze.”

“We don’t need anything _analyzed,”_ Steve says roughly. “I know who it is.”

“Who?” Sam asks.

Steve glances at him, biting out, “Brock Rumlow.”

From where Steve’s still looking at him from out of his periphery even as he turns back to the street in front of him, he notices how Sam just looks confused, and a troubled look settles over his expression. The name may be unfamiliar to Sam, but it’s embedded into the surface of Steve’s brain like a brand.

“Brock Rumlow,” Sam repeats slowly, like he’s trying to test out the words on his tongue. “Your Army buddy? The one we saw a few days ago? The guy who’s Alexander Pierce’s _personal assistant?”_

His tone is angry, harsh, and Steve nods his head vehemently in response. Sam should be angry. Steve’s angry. He doesn’t know how they missed it for this long.

“He scented me in the lobby,” Steve says harshly, finally turning the Camaro into the parking lot of Bucky’s garage. The parking lot is empty. Bucky’s bike is probably parked inside, out of the view of anyone passing by on the street because he doesn’t want anyone to mess with it. Sam’s eyes drift over the empty spaces in the parking lot, and he scoffs. Steve turns back to him, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “At the precinct a few days ago, I literally ran into him, but it was like he was waiting for me, Sam. And before he left, he scented me, and neither of us realized it.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Sam replies, shaking his head. He runs both of his hands over his face irritably, sighing. “You’re right, shit. How did we not notice that? _Fuck.”_

“I don’t know,” Steve says, biting the inside of his cheek. He parks the car quickly, hurriedly pulling his keys out of the ignition and opens the door. He probably slams it shut harder than he normally would have, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Bucky’s garage is a normal, brick building on a corner facing out towards the street. Steve and Sam both quickly make their way around the backside of the building to avoid the busy street, and Steve opens the side door and steps inside.

He’s not surprised to see that Bucky’s pacing in front of the door, a scowl on his face and red eyes illuminating clearly even in the bright light of the workshop, and as soon as Steve clears the doorway, he’s pulling Steve into his arms and hugging him tightly to his chest. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s bulky shoulders, letting the warmth of Bucky’s body ground him from his panic.

Sam moves around them, making his way further inside the workshop and plopping down across from the floor jack in the left corner of the garage. The sliding doors are pulled shut and fastened tightly on the opposite side of where Bucky and Steve are standing, but there’s a window open above the welding machines adjacent to the jack, and Steve knows from visiting Bucky multiple times throughout the past three and a half years that Bucky never opens that window.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky makes a sound in his throat that’s not entirely soothing, but he pulls away from Steve and nods. His beautiful red eyes meet Steve’s, and they’re full of fury and anger, but Steve can still see the relief behind Bucky’s hardened gaze, and he lets Bucky move his hand to the back of his neck, scenting him.

“I’m happy you’re safe,” Bucky says, his voice full of rage, and a growl sounds from his throat as he continues, “but I’m fucking pissed.”

“I know,” Steve says, not hiding his own irritation. He sighs again, and Sam flicks one of the jack straps holding an old Harley in place on top of the jack as he huffs loudly.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Sam says. “He’s been here this entire fucking time.”

“He wants me to know he’s close,” Bucky says, snarling. “He wants me to know how close he is to you.” His thumb rubs over the base of Steve’s spine, and Steve shuffles back a little but still stays tightly pressed to Bucky’s left side.

“Well, he’s fucking right,” Sam says, huffing again. He runs a hand over his face.

“Did he do anything?” Steve asks, crossing his arms. He sweeps his eyes over the garage carefully, like he’s assessing a crime scene. Bucky’s normal sundry supplies are lying over on his work bench, undisturbed, and his automotive body tools are in their correct places. The welding machines are untouched, the tire mount isn’t broken, and the sandblaster is clean and tidy on the other side of the shop. The only thing that looks out of place is broken glass spewed on the concrete from underneath the welding machines, and Bucky’s stool he sits on is toppled over and broken. Steve looks above the welding machines, and the window he’d thought was open is actually broken, like the omega punched in the glass to get in. Steve turns back to Bucky, asking, “He leave, like, a note, or something?”

Bucky chuckles sardonically. His laughter is bitter and harsh as he bites out, “No, Steve. He didn’t leave a note.”

Steve flinches a little at Bucky’s brutish tone. “Okay, well, did he take anything? Why was he here?”

“To mock me,” Bucky says, his voice heavy with venom, “because I haven’t found him yet. His scent is covering every inch of this room. He wants me to know he’s waiting for me to accept his challenge.”

 _“Accept his challenge?”_ Steve repeats. “Challenge for what?”

“This territory,” Bucky replies harshly. “He wants my territory.”

“How does that even work?” Sam asks, standing up and crossing his arms as he frowns.

Bucky growls again. “Any werewolf can challenge an Alpha for that Alpha’s territory. This omega has challenged me. I haven’t accepted.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

Bucky turns to him, exhaling sharply. “Because I don’t _actually_ want to kill anyone.”

Steve’s eyes widen a little in shock, and he glances at Sam, who gives him a startled look. They both turn back to Bucky, who’s still snarling.

“Why would you have to kill him?” Steve asks gently, unwilling to irritate Bucky further. He doesn’t want to push Bucky too hard and encourage him to shift. Bucky needs to keep a level head right now, especially when he’s having so many issues trying to control his wolf.

Bucky growls deeply in his throat, his face contorted in anger. “To win the challenge, I’d have to kill him,” he says harshly. “It’s the only way to assert my claim to this territory.”

“He’s trying to goad you into accepting, right?” Sam asks, scoffing. “By breaking in here and spreading his scent over everything, he’s trying to make you angry enough to fight him back?”

“Yes,” Bucky snarls, his eyes flashing darker. “And it’s fucking working. I want to rip out his _fucking_ throat.”

“Bucky,” Steve says softly, placing his hand between Bucky’s shoulder blades and rubbing the space between them soothingly. Bucky glances back at him, sighing, and squeezes Steve’s neck in reassurance.

“You don’t actually plan on killing him, though, right?” Sam asks tentatively.

Bucky’s eyes snap back to him, and he glares menacingly. “It’s the only way to make sure that he’s no longer a threat.”

“It’s not the only way, Buck,” Steve interjects, frowning.

“Do you have a better idea? Just because I said I didn’t _want_ to kill him doesn’t mean I _shouldn’t_. He’s dangerous, Steve. He’s so close to you — to both of you,” Bucky says, nodding his head towards Sam. “I’m not going to let him endanger my pack.”

“We’re police officers, Bucky,” Sam says sternly, his frown deepening. “We can’t exactly condone the killing of an innocent civilian.”

“ _Innocent_ ,” Bucky mocks, scoffing. “There’s nothing _innocent_ about this fucking omega.”

Steve can’t exactly argue with that. The last word he’d ever use to describe Brock Rumlow is _innocent_.

“What if we could convince him to leave?” Steve asks, shaking his head. “If we could get him to understand that you’re not going to give up this territory and that he’s got nothing to gain here, we could get him to leave.”

“How do we do that, Steve? We don’t even know who he is,” Bucky says, a growl still caught deep in his throat. He’s scowling again, and his muscles are pulled taut against his bulging biceps. He looks absolutely menacing.

Steve shares a look with Sam, then turns his attention back to Bucky as he takes a step away to fully face his boyfriend, keeping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Actually,” he says timidly, “we do.”

Bucky snaps his gaze back to Steve’s, his red eyes shining like the dying embers of a fire. He risks a glance at Sam, who just gives Bucky a small shrug, before Bucky looks back towards Steve, his entire body stiff.

“What do you mean,” he bites out, narrowing his eyes.

“We know who the omega is,” Steve says simply, and a low snarl rips itself from Bucky’s throat.

“How?” he asks sharply, his entire body tense with rage.

Steve’s immediately backtracking a little, moving closer so he can rub his hand over Bucky’s shoulder in reassurance. “We pieced some things together, Buck,” he answers softly. “We haven’t seen him again. He hasn’t come back to the precinct.”

He feels Bucky relax infinitesimally, but he’s still glaring as he looks back and forth between Steve and Sam.

“Who is it?” he asks.

Steve exhales sharply. “Brock Rumlow,” he says, the name like acid on his tongue.

Bucky just stares at him, his red eyes blank.

“Rumlow and I served together in Afghanistan,” Steve says, answering the unasked question in the air. “He works for Alexander Pierce, now. He’s the one who scented me that day.”

“How do you know he’s the omega?” Bucky asks. He’s not discrediting Steve’s words, or asking because he doesn’t believe Steve. Bucky’s still seething from his anger, but he’s being genuine with his question. He knows Steve’s telling the truth. Steve wouldn’t be telling him something like this if he didn’t completely believe what he was saying.

“Sharon found cross-species DNA on a few of the guns from the shootout at the truck stop,” Steve replies. “She pulled prints, too, and the prints matched a redacted Army file.”

“And you’re sure it’s him?” Bucky asks.

“He scented Steve in the precinct that day, Bucky,” Sam cuts in, and Bucky looks at him sharply. “I was there. We didn’t realize that’s what he was doing. He’s the only one that makes sense.”

“He’d have direct access to those guns,” Steve adds. “He was a high level Army operative. His DNA wouldn’t be in the system, and neither would his prints. Neither were mine when I first started at the precinct. Pierce is also probably covering for him.”

“Was he a werewolf when you knew him?” Sam asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Definitely not.” Steve has sparred with him, and beaten him, enough times to know that Rumlow wasn’t a werewolf during their Army days. “Up until a few days ago, it’d been years since I’d seen him. He could have been turned at any point between then and now.”

“How are we going to convince him to leave?” Bucky asks, his jaw clenched tightly.

Steve glances at Sam again, and Sam’s eyes light up when Steve nods at him.

“The masquerade,” Sam nods, pointing at Steve encouragingly. “That could work.”

“What masquerade?” Bucky says confusingly, glancing between Sam and Steve again.

“Alexander Pierce is holding a charity ball in a few days,” Steve replies. “Sam and I are going to go undercover to try to get into his finances at the ball for Natasha. Rumlow is Pierce’s assistant. He’ll probably be there. We could corner him. He can’t do anything in public without the risk of exposing himself.”

Bucky nods. “I could get in — explain why he needs to leave.”

Steve shakes his head, saying slowly, “I think I should be the one to talk to him.”

Both Sam and Bucky snap their gazes to him. Sam frowns again, shaking his head, but Bucky scowls, growling out, “Absolutely not.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, “Rumlow’s a werewolf, and he’s a lot stronger than me. I’m not a threat to him. If I could get him alone, I could explain to him why he needs to leave in a rational way. Out of the three of us, I at least somewhat _know_ him. Rumlow’s a strategic Army operative. He knows when to pick the best option.”

“Steve, listen to me,” Sam says, shaking his head. “The last thing we need is for you and Rumlow to be alone. This guy is threatening _all_ of us. You’re vulnerable, Steve, and not to mention _very_ breakable _._ ”

“So are you, Sam,” Steve argues, shaking his head.

“Yes,” Sam agrees, “and that’s why Bucky should be the one to talk with him.”

“I’m the Alpha, Steve. He’s not even half as strong as I am, but he’s a hundred times stronger than you,” Bucky says, frowning. His tone isn’t condescending or patronizing, just honest, like he’s telling Steve a fact.

Steve just shakes his head again. “You’re not in control of yourself, Bucky, and the masquerade is on the night before the full moon. If you threaten him, he’ll probably retaliate. You don’t want to kill him, and Sam and I don’t want you to either, but if you don’t go for the lethal blows, he _will_ , and you could get hurt.”

“ _You_ could get hurt, Steve. Everything I’ll be feeling from the full moon is the same thing he’ll feel. He’s a bitten werewolf. We don’t know if he’s in control of himself at all. I’ve had _years_ to learn control, Steve, and he hasn’t. I’m not okay with letting you put yourself in danger. That’s _not_ happening,” Bucky says, scowling.

“I’m not okay with letting you get _hurt,_ Bucky _._ There’s not another way to do this,” Steve says, stubbornly setting his jaw. “Sam’s just as breakable as I am, and letting you fight him is the opposite of what we’re trying to do.”

“We’re _trying_ to get a very dangerous threat out of Bucky’s territory,” Sam says reasonably.

“Exactly,” Steve replies. “I need you both to trust me with this. I’m not going to get myself hurt.”

Bucky snarls and opens his mouth, but Sam’s phone rings loudly and echoes off the brick walls of Bucky’s garage, and Bucky snaps his mouth shut as Sam fishes the phone out of his pocket. His package of M&M’s falls out of his pocket in his haste, and Steve rolls his eyes exasperatedly at the profane sounds it makes as it collides with the concrete floor.

Bucky’s nose twitches when a few of the colored chocolates roll across the floor towards him, and Steve can’t help but to find the action adorable even amidst the scowl still marring Bucky’s face.

Sam answers the phone a second later, curtly saying, “Wilson,” down the line and glancing at Steve before he looks down at the M&M’s, frowning.

Whoever’s on the other line says something too low for Steve’s ears to pick up, but Sam’s eyes widen, and he nods vigorously for a few minutes, finally muttering, “Yeah, he’s alright. We’ll be there in a few,” and ends the call quickly.

“That was Natasha,” Sam says to Steve as he pockets his phone and leans down to pick up the wayward chocolates. “Sharon found something else. We need to get back. Natasha also says we need to finish up all of our remaining case files so we can focus on the masquerade.”

Steve nods, looking towards Bucky and trying to catch his eye. Bucky’s still staring at the M&M’s, glaring as he watches Sam pick them up. Steve sighs.

“I’ll meet you outside, Sam,” he says once Sam stands up. Sam nods at him, moving to throw the package away with a wanton sigh as he glances back at Steve and Bucky.

“Sorry about the break-in, Bucky,” Sam says apologetically, and Bucky nods at him. Sam glances at Steve, mouthing _good luck_ , before he disappears out the same door they’d entered from.

Steve turns back to Bucky, keeping his arms crossed, and sighs again when Bucky doesn't look at him.

“Bucky,” he says pleadingly, and Bucky meets his eyes after a moment, red irises shining bright with fury. Bucky raises his eyebrows, and his own arms are crossed in front of him, the muscles of his arms pulled taut against his pale skin. Steve can’t tell if his claws are out or not as Bucky clenches his hands into fists, his expression unblinking. Another sigh pulls itself from Steve’s throat.

“What,” Bucky says after a few seconds of silence pass. He’s furious, eyes hard and unflinching as they regard Steve.

“I’m not dropping this,” Steve says sternly, and Bucky makes another sound in his throat.

“Of course, you’re not,” he says slowly even as his breathing remains uneven as he studies Steve’s face, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Steve blinks at him. He hadn’t expected Bucky to resign himself so easily like that, but Bucky’s still showing that he cares about Steve’s opinions, even as he continues to fume.

“Okay,” Steve replies, hesitant.

Bucky sighs deeply, shaking his head, and walks over to Steve. His hand is light as he cups Steve’s face, tilting it up just slightly so their eyes meet, and kisses his forehead softly. When he looks into Bucky’s eyes again, Steve glances towards Bucky’s hand. His claws aren’t out, and he’s not as tense as he was moments ago.

Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s, exhaling roughly through his nose. “We’ll talk about this later,” he repeats gently. A promise. He values Steve’s opinion as much as he values Steve’s safety.

Steve nods, moving closer so they can press their bodies together. Bucky’s lips press gently against his, and Steve kisses him back softly.

When Bucky pulls away, he mutters against Steve’s lips, “I knew we should have stayed in bed this morning.”

Steve laughs softly, humming in agreement as he winds his arms around Bucky’s neck and moves his fingers into Bucky’s hair. He pulls Bucky’s mouth to his again, and even though he knows Bucky is still angry, Bucky kisses him deeply and sensually, the press of his lips making Steve feel lightheaded.

He pulls back a moment later, pressing one last peck to Bucky’s lips before he takes a full step away. He doesn’t have enough time to get lost in the feel of Bucky’s tempting lips.

“I’ll see you at home,” Steve says, and Bucky nods at him. He’s not smiling, just watching Steve with a downtrodden curve of his mouth and serious red eyes.

“Be safe,” Bucky says somberly, following after Steve as he walks towards the side door. He opens it up once they both reach it and moves into Steve’s space again to press another gentle kiss to his brow.

“I will,” Steve replies, smiling gently. “Get your eyes back to normal, grumpy.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just clenches his jaw as Steve turns around, walking out the door quickly to catch up with Sam. Bucky watches him go, and Steve thinks he hears Bucky sigh grimly before he closes the door shut with a foreboding _click._

—

Sam tries to convince Steve to let Bucky corner Rumlow at the masquerade the entire drive back to the precinct. Every time Steve thinks he’s gotten Sam to realize that their best option to get Rumlow to leave Bucky’s territory peacefully is for Steve to attempt to talk to him, Sam starts back up again about how Steve’s going to end up getting himself hurt. Steve understands that Sam’s just trying to look out for him, but he can’t help but think that Sam’s being overdramatic like usual.

Breaking into Bucky’s garage is another line this omega has crossed, but he hasn’t exactly been violent towards any of them. Steve doesn’t want to see what lengths the werewolf is willing to go to, which is exactly why he tells Sam that they need to get him to leave now before he actually ends up hurting someone.

Bucky’s admitted that he doesn’t want to go about this problem violently, and the last thing Steve wants Bucky to do is bend those morals. He’s not on board with killing anyone, and Bucky’s clearly hoping to avoid that as well. Their best option is to try to talk Rumlow into leaving. Steve can only hope that he listens. He doesn’t know what they’ll do if he doesn’t.

Sam shuts up pretty quickly when Steve asks him for another option, and the few minutes they have left until they pull into the precinct parking lot is tense and silent. Steve’s not trying to start a fight with Sam, but he needs Sam to understand that this is the only way to ensure that everyone remains safe.

Sam hops out of the Camaro as soon as Steve’s parked it, and Steve sighs heavily as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. If Sam just needs some time to process everything they’ve talked about in the last half hour, Steve isn’t going to push. He’ll come around eventually.

Natasha eyes them warily when they both enter her office, and when Steve catches her gaze, she lifts an eyebrow in question. He shakes his head at her, giving her a thumbs up to show that everything's okay and sits down on the sofa. She nods hesitantly at that, settling back into her desk chair. Sam sits down next to him, sighing softly under his breath, and doesn’t look at Natasha or Sharon, who hasn’t moved from her own chair across from Natasha’s desk.

The only new information Sharon tells them is that their suspect’s fingerprints did show up at the crime scene in Pakistan. Both Coulson and Parker agreed to send them the rest of the file before they left, and Sharon pulls it up on her tablet to show them that the fingerprints on the guns implicated overseas matched the ones she pulled off the guns in Rollins’s trailer. Neither Sam or Steve mention that they know their suspect is Rumlow, and both Sharon and Natasha continue on spouting theories and further planning the masquerade.

Steve tunes out most of the planning, occasionally glancing at Sam as the two women in front of him talk about the ball’s security detail and how to bypass any curious searches so their weapons won’t be found. He watches as Natasha sends an email off to the D.A.’s office to ask if they can receive invitations and listens when she tells each of them to stick to an alias while they’re at the ball. Pierce knows who he, Sam, and Natasha are, and adding their names to the guest list could raise an unnecessary red flag. She dismisses them to continue their work but calls him back to ask if he’s alright and if everything’s okay with Bucky.

He admits that Bucky had a break-in at his garage but leaves out all of the details about the omega, thanking her for letting him and Sam rush over to Bucky’s workshop to make sure Bucky was okay. She waves a dismissive hand at him and smiles, telling him that she’s glad Bucky’s alright.

Steve hates lying to her, especially when she knows how he gets when he thinks Bucky’s in danger, but he can’t tell her that Bucky’s an Alpha werewolf and is very capable of defending himself, so he just thanks her again and excuses himself to his paperwork.

The rest of his day consists of case filing and trying to convince Sam to let him go along with his plan. Sam finally cracks after Steve hounds him for three hours, admitting that he’s just worried about Steve and doesn’t want him to get hurt. Steve affectionately nudges his shoulder, assuring Sam that he’s going to be fine, and that he’s going to have Sam there to back him up and help him should he need it. His words seem to settle Sam, and Steve finally gets him to admit that his plan is the only way to resolve this entire dispute peacefully.

The remaining few hours spent on paperwork finds the both of them offhandedly haggling each other. Steve jokes that Sam’s gal is going to be jealous when she finds out that Sam’s going on a date with Natasha, and Sam blushes a deep red and tells him that Bucky’s going to lose his shit when he finds out that Sharon is Steve’s date to the ball. Steve huffs at that, but he can’t deny that he's not looking forward to telling Bucky about his impending date.

When they finally call it a night just a little past eight thirty, Steve still has a lot of case files he and Sam didn’t get to finish. Natasha tells them both that it’s fine if it takes them a few days to finish them, just that she wants them to have them all done completely before the ball so they have time to go over their plan again.

He pulls up to he and Bucky’s brownstone five minutes before nine o’clock, and Steve sighs as he heads up the stairs towards their apartment.

When he opens the door, he’s immediately met with the smell of Indian spices, and a quick glance towards the dining room table tells him that Bucky picked up takeout from the Asian market a few blocks down.

He takes his briefcase off of his shoulder and sets it so it’s propped up against the side table, throwing his keys into the dish and sweeping his eyes across the living room.

Bucky’s not on the couch or in the dining room, and Steve doesn’t hear him in the kitchen, so he moves to walk down the hallway towards their bedroom.

He stops outside the open door of the room they’ve made their home gym, and Bucky’s already looking at him when Steve leans against the doorway. His eyes are their normal gray as he meets Steve’s gaze, but he doesn’t say anything as Steve watches him.

Bucky’s shirtless, only in a pair of track shorts as he lifts two weights above his head, his back flat against their bench press. He holds Steve’s gaze as he continues to slowly move the weights up and down. When he catches sight of them, Steve sees that both barbells are a hundred and fifty pounds each.

Bucky’s not sweating though, which means he’s taken Steve’s warnings about overworking himself into account, and Steve smiles softly at him, watching as Bucky’s muscles tense underneath the skin of his biceps.

Bucky stops moving after a few more reps, and he sits up quickly, setting the weights back into the rack. He turns to Steve, crossing his arms.

“Have a good day?” he asks, and Steve quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Did everything go okay at the garage after Sam and I left?” he asks, avoiding Bucky’s question. He’s not finished with their conversation from earlier.

Bucky just nods, moving to pull at the hair tie he’s got holding his hair back out of his face. He runs his hand through the dark locks and shrugs.

“I aired the place out after you left,” Bucky answers, “and cleaned up the glass. Got myself calmed down. Then I went back to work.”

Steve nods at him, moving out of the way so Bucky can walk out of the room. Bucky shuts the lights off and closes the door before he turns and heads towards their bedroom, opening the door and walking towards their closet. Steve follows after, frowning.

His eyes immediately settle on their bed when he walks into their bedroom, where a black, sleek metal headboard has replaced the wooden one Bucky had accidentally broken. Steve had kind of forgotten that Bucky had broken it, too distracted by Bucky’s residual panicking to think about fixing it. Clearly, Bucky’s just replaced the entire wooden headboard with metal, either because this new one will be a tad sturdier than the last one or because it goes just as nicely with the rest of their bedroom furniture. Whatever the reason, Steve’s happy with Bucky’s choice, but his lips are still turned down in a frown as he watches Bucky.

Bucky walks into the closet and starts rummaging through what Steve likes to refer to as his comfortable clothes, pulling out a soft, white t-shirt. Steve moves to his nightstand, unbuckling his holster, and takes out his gun. He opens the top drawer of his nightstand, making sure the safety on his gun is switched on before putting it, along with his holster, into the drawer. He unclips his badge from his belt buckle, setting it inside before he closes the drawer.

He walks towards the closet, pulling the pull-over he’d worn to cover the hickies on his neck over his head as Bucky exits the doorway.

The white t-shirt Bucky’s wearing hugs his middle, and Steve can practically count each of his abs through it. He follows Bucky’s movements as he walks past the doorway, arms crossed as he walks past Steve with his usual scowl on his face.

Steve turns his head around to continue watching Bucky, but Bucky just sits on the edge of their bed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on the screen with his thumb.

Steve holds back another sigh as he sets the pull-over in the laundry basket, pulling out a pair of soft shorts and a long sleeve shirt from his own plethora of comfy clothes. He quickly removes his work shoes, then moves to take the jeans he’d been wearing off of his hips, glancing up at Bucky again. Bucky’s eyes remain on his phone screen as Steve steps out of his jeans, and Steve tugs the shorts on with a roll of his eyes.

He grabs the long sleeve, shoving his arms through the sleeves as he faces Bucky, eying him when he pulls the collar over his head. He crosses his arms, his own muscles straining against the cotton sleeves, and leans against the doorway of the closet, pinning Bucky with an expectant look.

When Bucky doesn’t look up from his phone screen after a few seconds, Steve huffs loudly, and Bucky’s eyes snap up to his. He fixes Steve with an irritable look, muttering, _“What?”_

Steve raises his eyebrows, and he frowns again. “What’s wrong with you? Are you mad at me or something?”

“Why would I be mad at you, Steve?” Bucky asks, turning back to his phone screen, but his eyes are pinched, and his brow is pulled down in frustration. He actually does look really mad.

“Hmm,” Steve scoffs, growing angry, “I don’t know, Bucky. You’re the one acting like you’re pissed.”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to his again, and there’s fire in those gray eyes as he shoves his phone away and crosses his arms, snarling, “Yeah, Steve, actually, I _am_ mad at you.”

“Yeah, Bucky, I can see that,” Steve replies, scoffing as he shakes his head.

Bucky glares at him. “How could you _possibly_ think that being alone with an _omega werewolf_ is a _good idea?”_

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve says, sighing. “I thought you said we were going to talk about it. _That’s_ what you’re mad about?”

“Fucking — ” Bucky cuts himself off, exhaling deeply through his nostrils. “ _Yes_ , Steve, that’s _exactly_ what I’m mad about. You are completely disregarding your own safety just so you can have a little talk with your Army pal.”

“No, I’m not, Bucky,” Steve starts, stubbornly squaring his shoulders, but Bucky growls, cutting him off.

“Yes, you are, Steve,” he says harshly. “I don’t care who the fuck he is. He’s _dangerous_. He could _hurt_ you. He could _kill_ you. Don’t you get that?”

“Yes, Bucky, I _get_ _that._ But he could hurt you, too! You know how pissed you’re getting right now at the thought of me getting hurt? Well, how do you think _I_ feel?” Steve asks, and he feels his face heat up angrily. “What do you think _I_ would do if you got hurt because of him? Because you’re risking everything to try to protect me from something that might not even happen? How do you think that would make _me_ feel?”

“Steve,” Bucky says, sighing softly. “You know what I am. You know how strong I am. He’s not going to hurt me.”

“He could,” Steve says, grinding his teeth. “If you don’t take the lethal options, he _could_ , Bucky.”

“So, what are you saying?” Bucky asks, huffing. “You want me to kill him? That’s what you want?”  
  
“No, Bucky!” Steve says, frustrated. “I want the _opposite_. I want you to _trust me_ enough to get all of us out of this situation before you’re forced to accept a challenge where you _kill another living being.”_

“That’s not — ” Bucky starts, cutting himself off with a frustrated growl. He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair before continuing, “I _do_ trust you.”

“Then what’s the problem, Bucky?”

“It’s _him_ I don’t trust. We don’t know if he can control himself, Steve. The problem,” Bucky says, growling again, “is that he is _dangerous_. We don’t know what he could do, Steve. He could literally decide to _rip you apart.”_

“Bucky. . .” Steve trails off, exhaling deeply. His arms fall from his chest, and he moves from the doorway. He takes only a few steps, stopping in front of Bucky. Bucky looks up at him with hardened eyes and a clenched jaw. He looks even more brooding and statuesque, his body taut and unmoving like it's carved from marble.

“You’re so. . .” Bucky starts, making an aggravated sound. “You’re so _breakable_ , Steve. I know you can handle yourself, and I trust you to do that. I believe in you. I believe that you can talk him down peacefully.” He pauses, slowly and purposefully relaxing his body and taking a deep breath. He reaches his right hand out, gently resting it on Steve’s hip. “But the thought of this werewolf being alone with you. . .or — _touching_ you — it just. . . it makes me so mad I feel like I can’t even _breathe.”_

Steve watches the fight leave Bucky’s eyes, watches as the fire within them dims and disappears. He takes another step towards his boyfriend, letting Bucky pull him in, and buries his fingers in Bucky’s soft hair.

Steve knows that Bucky isn’t really angry at him. Everything he’s saying isn’t really a shock. He knew Bucky wouldn’t want him to be alone with Rumlow. Rumlow had scented Steve to let Bucky know that he was here, to antagonize him. If anything, the last thing Bucky wants right now is for Steve to be alone with a werewolf that he feels threatened by. Rumlow might not actually be a threat to Bucky, but he’s a threat to Steve. There’s no way Bucky’s going to be okay with Steve being alone with Rumlow.

“There’s part of me that wants to let you do this,” Bucky says quietly, but he continues to rest his forehead against Steve’s chest, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “I’m not going to make choices for you. I’m not going to tell you that I won’t let you be alone with him. I respect your decisions and your opinions, and I _trust you,_ sweetheart. But there’s another part of me that just — _can’t_ wrap my head around letting you do something this dangerous. I can’t — I’m just — ” Bucky bites off with another growl, and Steve runs his nails lightly over Bucky’s scalp to soothe him.

“You’re scared,” Steve says, and Bucky makes a low sound of agreement in his throat.

“I’m _terrified,”_ he corrects, nuzzling his face right over Steve’s heart. “You’re the one person I can’t live without, and I’m afraid he’s going to use you against me.”

Steve takes a deep breath, nodding even though Bucky’s not looking at him. “I know,” he says softly. “I’m afraid, too. I don’t want him to hurt you, Bucky. I can’t even _think_ about you getting hurt. I can’t live without you, either. But I’m a distraction for you. If you’re busy worrying over me, he could use your protective instincts against you. It wouldn’t matter if you’re stronger or smarter than him.”

“I’ll always choose you over anything else,” Bucky says resolutely. “You’re my only priority.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. “You’re my priority, too. But I don’t think that does us much good, Buck. You have to trust me enough to let me do this.”

“Baby, I _do_ trust you,” Bucky replies, his voice soft. He runs his hands up and down Steve’s sides slowly. “I’m just so fucking worried. My wolf is _seething_ at the thought of you being anywhere near another werewolf. I know I’m being overprotective, and I probably seem like an asshole, but if you get _hurt_ because of this — because of _me_ — I’ll never forgive myself, Steve. I’m so fucking scared.”

Steve hugs Bucky’s face closer to his chest, his heart aching at the fear in Bucky’s voice.

“Everything I’ve ever loved in my life has been taken away from me,” Bucky says, his voice thick with emotion, “except you. I can’t stand the thought of losing you, too.”

“No one is going to take me away from you, Bucky,” Steve says, and he feels like his heart’s breaking in two at the vulnerability in Bucky’s voice, the raw emotion of his deep tenor filling Steve’s veins with ice. “Not Rumlow, not anything. I won’t let them. And I won’t let anything take you away from me, either.”

He says his words carefully, with conviction, like if he says them as uncompromising as he means them, they’ll be true, etched into the universe like a warning. A warning to anyone who tries to tear them apart.

“I wish there was another way,” Bucky says quietly, so low Steve barely hears him. “I wish he would just leave and spare the mess I know he intends to make.”

“I do, too,” Steve sighs. “But I really do think this is the only way, Buck. I want him gone just as badly as you do.”

Bucky nods from his place against Steve’s chest, moving his hands to wrap around Steve’s waist. He inhales deeply, exhaling a soft sigh.

“If we do this,” he starts, leaning back so he can look into Steve’s eyes, “I want to be there.”

“That might not be — ” Steve starts, but Bucky shakes his head.

“I want to be at the masquerade,” he says, cutting Steve off gently, “to make sure that you and Sam are both kept safe. Please don’t ask me to stay away. I _can’t_ do that. Not when you’re going to be alone with him. ”

Steve sighs, moving his hand to the base of Bucky’s neck and rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s heated skin. He can’t argue with Bucky wanting to ensure he and Sam’s safety, and he can’t ask Bucky not to go.

Bucky attending the masquerade defeats the purpose of Steve ensuring that he doesn’t somehow end up hurt, but he should have known Bucky would ask this of him. It’s too much to ask him to let Steve walk into a room with another werewolf and also ask him not to be there in case anything goes awry.

“Okay,” he nods. “We’ll sneak you in. There’s going to be a lot of security, though. We’re going to have to be careful.” At Bucky’s own nod, Steve continues, “When Rumlow and I are talking, you don’t get to interfere.”

Bucky opens his mouth, already making another frustrated sound, but Steve says, “It’s called a compromise, Buck. You can listen in, right? You’ll know what we both say. You’ll know if anything. . .happens.”

Bucky stares up at him, frowning and brooding. “I’ll only step in if I need to,” he finally says, shaking his head again when Steve starts to protest. “If he gets violent with you,” Bucky growls, “I’ll break his fucking hands. I don’t think I could control myself enough to stand by if I hear him hurting you. But I won’t interfere unless I need to.” He pauses. “Compromise?”

Steve bites his lip, but he nods. That sounds fair.

“If you broke his hands, wouldn’t he heal just as fast as you do?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. Wounds inflicted by an Alpha take longer to heal. I’d heal as fast as I normally would if he were to break _my_ hand, but he wouldn’t be healed up for a few days if I broke his.”

“No breaking each other’s hands,” Steve says seriously. “The goal is to do this peacefully, Buck.”

Bucky resolutely shakes his head, before he looks back up at Steve with a scowl, his eyes stern.

“If he lays a hand on you, I swear to _God_ — ”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts him softly, laying his hands on both sides of Bucky’s face. “I know.”

Bucky snarls a little, but he loosens his grip around Steve’s waist so Steve can climb into his lap. Bucky’s arms circle back around him once he’s situated, and Steve presses a light kiss to Bucky’s lips, pulling back with a small smile.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he says quietly, but each word is punctuated. He needs Bucky to believe them as much as he does.

Bucky nods slowly, like he’s trying to make himself accept the words, and presses their foreheads together, running his thumbs along the base of Steve’s spine. It’s quiet for a moment, but Bucky eventually says, “I shouldn’t have said that I was mad at you. I wasn’t mad at you. I’m just mad at this situation. I’ve had the entire day today to just. . .think about you being in danger like that, and I. . . kind of freaked out a little bit.”

“I know,” Steve repeats, gently running his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone. “I know you’re scared. I am, too. But we’re in this together, Buck. You, me, and Sam. We’re all on the same side, and everything’s going to be fine.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, exhaling sharply before he closes the space between them. His warm lips send a current down Steve’s spine, and Steve relaxes completely into him, letting Bucky’s embrace envelop him.

Bucky pulls away so he can rest their foreheads together again, a small smile on his lips. “If I wasn’t out of my mind with worry for you, I’d actually be excited that we were going to a ball together, even if it is a little cliché.”

His words are supposed to make Steve laugh or smile, to make this horrible situation a little more bearable, but Steve freezes as the words sink into his brain, and he can’t help but to grimace slightly, guilt flooding his veins.

Somehow, Sharon hasn’t come up at all during this discussion about the masquerade, and Steve was somewhat hoping that he could put it off for a while, that he could avoid telling Bucky until he absolutely needed to.

But Bucky sounds so sincere and sweet with his words, and Steve feels horrible keeping his impending date away from him when he’s practically telling Steve he’d actually like to take him out to a _ball_ , even though Bucky hardly ever wants to go out on dates that consist of him being around anyone else but Steve.

It’s not fair to keep something as important as him going on a date with another person away from Bucky, even though it’s technically a pretend date. He’d probably get a little jealous if their roles were reversed, no matter how secure he feels in their relationship. The thought of seeing Bucky on a date with anyone but him makes his blood boil a little.

Bucky pulls away slightly when Steve doesn’t answer, probably smelling the guilt that’s scrambling Steve’s insides. He looks into Steve’s eyes with a furrowed brow, his gray eyes quizzical. Steve hesitates, fighting back another grimace.

“I — um. . .need to tell you something,” he says, and then can’t hold back his grimace when he hears how pathetic he sounds. He clears his throat, continuing, “And I need you not to get angry.”

“Why would I get angry?” Bucky asks, tilting his head to the side.

Steve hesitates again. “Just. . .please remember that I love you and that you have nothing to be worried about,” he says. Bucky’s face scrunches up in confusion, and Steve would think it was adorable if he weren’t so overcome with nerves.

“Steve, what — ”

“For the ball,” Steve says, cutting Bucky off. “We’re all going undercover.” Bucky just watches him, so Steve takes a deep breath. “Natasha, Sam, me, and. . .Sharon.” Bucky stares at him, like he doesn’t understand why Steve’s telling him this, or that he’d already assumed that everyone he’d listed would be at the masquerade, too. “Natasha and Sam are going together, and Sharon and I are going together.”

“Okay,” Bucky says slowly, and Steve has to bite back a frustrated sigh because Bucky is _not getting it_.

“It’s a ball,” Steve tells him. “So, we have to pair off. As in, like, couples. Natasha is Sam’s date, and Sharon is my date.”

“Date,” Bucky repeats, his arms falling from around Steve’s waist. He rests them on Steve’s thighs, and Steve locks his hands around Bucky’s neck, trying not to let him pull away. “You’re going on a date with Sharon?”

“Well,” Steve starts, and his voice wavers a little. He clears his throat again. “Technically, it’s just a pretend date. We have to blend in. It makes it easier to. . .accomplish what we’re trying to accomplish, I guess?”

His explanation falls flat even to his own ears.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and each passing second that he’s silent only makes Steve even more nervous. He kind of expected Bucky to get angry, maybe even yell, but he hadn’t anticipated that Bucky might say nothing at all.

“Okay,” Bucky says after a full minute passes. Steve watches him carefully.

 _“Okay?”_ he repeats timidly.

“Yes,” Bucky says, his expression unreadable.

“That’s it?” Steve asks, surprised. “You’re okay with it?”

Bucky huffs. “No, I’m not _okay_ with it. There’s not really anything I can do about it, though, is there?”

“Um,” Steve says, biting his lip. “No, I guess not.”

Bucky sighs loudly, bringing one of his hands up to run down his face. “I’m not exactly thrilled that you’re going on _another_ date with her,” he says, and Steve’s momentarily thrown. Realization comes to him only a few seconds later. Bucky’s referring to Peggy’s engagement party. “Especially when she’s definitely got some kind of crush on you. But I know you don’t feel anything for her, and I’m secure enough in our relationship to know that this. . . _date_ doesn’t mean anything. It’s for work, Steve. You’re just doing your job. It’s not something I’m happy about, but I wouldn’t get _mad_ at you over it.”

“I kind of did expect you to get angry with me,” Steve admits, and Bucky furrows his eyebrows again.

“Why?”

“Well,” Steve says tentatively, shrugging. “You’re not in control of yourself right now. You’ve been very growly and hostile towards anyone who looks at me too long, and I kind of expected you to react the same way. I don’t fault you for that,” Steve says quickly when Bucky frowns at him. “I know you can’t control how you feel right now.”

“Steve,” Bucky says solemnly, “that’s awful!”

“What?” Steve blinks at him, thrown off guard. “Why?”

“Because,” Bucky says indignantly. “If you feel like you can’t tell me something like that because you’re afraid I’m going to get angry at you over it, then I haven’t been a very good boyfriend, and I’m sorry for that. You can always tell me _anything_ , baby. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t. I _am_ jealous,” Bucky admits, “and I kind of want to rip her head off just so she’s not able to look at you ever again. I’m not going to,” he says quickly when Steve opens his mouth, “and I think that urge is just something to do with whatever’s been going on with me. I know that there really isn’t a reason to be jealous. And you’re right, I can’t really control myself right now, but I’ve been working on it, and I don’t think it’s the moon. I don’t ever want you to be scared of my reactions, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not, Buck,” Steve says quickly. “I promise.”

“I love you,” Bucky says, and his arms wrap around Steve’s waist again, and Steve gives him a grin.

“I love you, too,” he replies immediately, leaning down so he can bring their lips together. He pulls away after a second, quietly asking, “You don’t think it’s the full moon that’s making you act like this?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I think you were right that something else is going on. I’ve started reading through my ma’s old journals to see if this ever happened to her. I don’t know if this is only ever something that’s happened to all werewolves or just Alphas.”

“Have you found anything?” Steve asks softly. Bucky never reads through his mother’s journals. He’s always thought reading her words would be too painful.

“No,” Bucky says, sighing, “but I have a few more to go through.”

Steve nods. “What if you don’t find anything?”

“I’ll go back to my family’s storage unit and dig out the rest of her journals,” Bucky answers, but his voice is tense. “If anyone’s going to know what’s going on with me, it’s her. Even if it does end up being some weird affect from the moon.”

Steve nods again, moving his hands from around Bucky’s neck to rest them on his throat, leaning down and kissing him again. Bucky kisses him slowly, and Steve’s body feels electric as Bucky’s lips move against his.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but eventually, Bucky pulls away from him, smiling softly. “Let’s go eat our food,” he says. “Even if it’s probably cold by now.”

Steve smiles at him. Even though Bucky was angry and scared, he still took the time to pick them both up something to eat. He’s still looking out for Steve, even when he’s frustrated.

“We can warm it up,” he says, against Bucky’s lips, and Bucky chuckles, gripping Steve’s thighs and lifting him up into the air.

The sound of their laughter echoes off the bedroom walls, and Steve feels nothing but affection as he lets Bucky carry him to their dining room table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow will always be awful in my mind lol. The next update is a longer chapter, so stay tuned! I don't want to give anything away but. . .Steve and Bucky are going to be all dressed up. In suits. Need I say more? 
> 
> Up next: the masquerade!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am so so sorry this has taken me so long to post! The good news is, I'm all moved in and ready for the start of the semester, so my updates will definitely go back to normal now. Thank you so much for your patience these past few days!
> 
> Again, thank you so much to everyone who continues to read, comment, and give me kudos! You guys are seriously the best. 
> 
> This chapter is slightly longer than my usual chapters. Consider this as part one of the masquerade! There's a lot going on over these next couple of chapters, and I hope you all enjoy reading! I'm really excited to post these next upcoming chapters, so stay tuned!

_“Only in darkness can we glimpse the fullest light our soul carries for us.” — Angie Weiland-Crosby_

The rest of the days up until the ball are. . .different, to say the least.

The weekend passes by with a flourish of both Sam and Steve working extensively on their case files, occasionally taking small breaks to pour over their plan for the masquerade in Natasha’s office with Sharon.

Natasha’s still keeping their plans away from everyone else in the precinct, and none of the other detectives really question it. She’s instructed them to go about business as usual, and he and Sam are only called away a few times to help consult on other cases. Natasha asks them to bypass any important information over to the leading detectives she assigns to each homicide, and Steve and Sam oblige, only helping on any of the cases when asked.

Sharon sometimes gets called to a scene to help process the evidence or collect a body, but she otherwise remains available for every briefing in Natasha’s office. Natasha had received an email on Sunday that the D.A. had gotten them invitations to the ball, and that seems to set in motion any plans they’d been debating over.

Any issue the four of them think of is quickly resolved, and by Monday evening, Steve’s feeling confident in their ability to execute this undercover plan efficiently.

Sharon still hasn’t brought up the kiss to him, even though she’s had plenty of opportunities to corner him about it. Every time he thinks she’s going to say something, she quickly changes the subject or excuses herself. Part of Steve wonders if she’s embarrassed by what she’d done. He clearly didn’t react how she had hoped, and while the kiss on his cheek was a sweet gesture, it had still made him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to bring it up to her, though, especially when they’re about to attend a ball together as dates. Any unnecessary tension between them could disrupt their carefully constructed plans. He doesn’t need anything to go wrong on Wednesday.

When Steve’s not busy planning at work, he, Sam, and Bucky meet at their brownstone to toss around ideas on how to get Rumlow alone. While he feels confident in he and Sam’s undercover work, Steve feels anxious about cornering Rumlow. He’s not sure when, or if, he’ll be able to get the werewolf alone, and Sam can only aid him so much in trying to provide a distraction for both Natasha and Sharon when he inevitably slips away from them.

Bucky’s still not completely complacent to follow along with Steve’s or Sam’s ideas, and he shoots down many of them before they all finally agree that Steve needs to take any opportunity he can to get Rumlow alone as soon as possible. Bucky doesn’t want him to be alone with the omega for long, but he’s alright, if not completely content, to listen on the outside and intervene if he needs to.

The easiest way for both plans to coincide is to smooth things over with Rumlow before the check needs to be handed over to the art charity's foundation, where Sharon is supposed to collect it for fear of financing problems. Steve needs to be able to help Sharon if she encounters trouble while trying to halt the transaction, and he can’t be pulled away and busy with Rumlow while the check is exchanged.

They plan to sneak Bucky in on the second floor of the old Brooklyn art museum Pierce is holding the benefit at. Natasha had shown them a map of the layout of the building so they could become familiar with the entrances and exits of the gallery, along with where the security would most likely be the most prevalent, and Steve had sneaked a picture of it quickly before she’d noticed.

There’s a fire escape on the second floor that faces the street, and Bucky is supposed to climb up to it and wait before Steve lets him in. Steve’s not sure what they’ll do if Bucky’s caught, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge that potential problem until he needs to.

They haven’t discussed where Steve and Rumlow will need to talk for Bucky to be able to hear them clearly, but Sam tells them that the second level is probably going to be his best bet. The ball’s supposed to take place on the first level so that none of the artwork on the second level is disturbed, and the last thing any of them want is for Steve and Rumlow to be caught out in the open amongst the public where the noise level could interfere with Bucky’s werewolf hearing.

While everything seems to be coming along smoothly for both plans, however, Steve can’t help but notice that Bucky’s acting a little. . .off. Bucky’s hardly touched him since he left those bruises on Steve’s neck days ago. It’s the last thing he needs to be worried about amongst everything that’s going on, but Steve feels the absence of every touch Bucky doesn’t give him, feels how Bucky pulls himself back if their kisses turn too deep, or if their hands start to wander.

Bucky’s been so on edge for the past few days that he’s not sleeping, and every time Steve asks him about it, Bucky just says he’s worried about Steve and that his wolf is restless and antsy. He reads through his mother’s journals almost constantly when he’s not at his garage or when they all come together to talk about the masquerade. Steve even sometimes has to gently plead with Bucky to take a break and come to bed with him. He’s told Bucky many times in the last four days that he doesn’t like that Bucky’s not sleeping, even though Bucky’s not showing any signs of exhaustion. He’s more defensive and tense than Steve has ever seen him before, and he holds Steve close to his chest every night even though he doesn’t sleep, gripping him so tightly like he’s afraid Steve will disappear if he lets go.

Ever since Bucky had admitted to wanting to bite Steve, he hasn’t been forthcoming with any lingering touches or wanton stares, despite how close he holds Steve at night. Steve knows that it’s possible Bucky’s just worried and stressed about the impending ball, barely containing his doubts and worry about Steve’s safety, and that he may still feel residual guilt about his desire to bite him. Steve’s privy to the way Bucky touches him, used to feeling like he can’t concentrate half the time they’re around each other because he wants Bucky so badly. This shift in Bucky’s behavior isn’t something he’s familiar with.

He doesn’t want to ask Bucky about it because he doesn’t want to add to Bucky’s worry, especially with everything they’ve got going on. It seems selfish to ask him about it when Bucky’s so on edge and wound up tight like a coiled spring.

He knows that Bucky’s aware of his confusion, however, because he isn’t able to hide his emotions from Bucky’s werewolf senses. It makes him a tad more frustrated, too, to know that Bucky can smell how confused he is, and still won’t explain or even make excuses for why he’s pulling himself back. Bucky doesn’t hide things from Steve, and knowing that he’s purposefully avoiding talking about it just makes Steve feel even more disconcerted.

It’s just all been so different for the past four days. When Tuesday rolls around, any final preparations in their cover are established. They all leave the precinct with the intent to go back into work the next day with any details and facts completely smoothed over and ready for the masquerade in the evening.

Steve isn’t used to talking about so many meaningless details like the color of his suit or how he’s going to style his hair. Sharon’s adamant that they need to coordinate their attire, and Steve tells her that he’s fine with any color she wants to pick. He doesn’t see the relevancy in the color of his tie or what kind of mask he should wear, but he lets her tell him what she’s decided, and he’s left feeling only slightly irritated when he leaves for the day. Sam just gives him a sympathetic grin, having had a similar discussion with Natasha, and Steve just gives him a small smile, trying not to seem perplexed.

Tuesday evening finds both Steve and Bucky cuddled on the couch, although Steve’s using _cuddling_ very lightly. Bucky’s not even fully touching him, just gently rubbing at the back of Steve’s neck. Steve still hasn’t said anything about the sudden distance between them, but when an accidental slip of Bucky’s thumb against his throat has his breath hitching slightly, he knows he probably should. The bruises on his neck have finally started to fade, and even the darkest ones at the base of his neck are only a light purple, easily hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. Bucky’s thumb just lightly presses over the one on his collarbone, and the thrill it sends down his spine has heat rushing between his thighs.

He’s sitting right next to Bucky on the couch, and all he needs to do is turn his head to press his lips to Bucky’s, and the warmth of Bucky’s mouth against his has his blood heating when he can’t hold himself back anymore.

Bucky kisses him back for a few minutes, their lips moving together as easily as breathing. Bucky’s tongue finds his, and Steve suddenly feels hot. He turns against Bucky’s hand and climbs into his lap, straddling his hips, desperate to feel Bucky’s body against his.

Bucky’s breathing has picked up slightly, and the hands he’s got on Steve’s hips tighten before he stills a little, pulling back with a small frown.

Steve, from where he’s got his own hands buried in Bucky’s hair, makes a disapproving noise, trying to pull Bucky’s lips back to his.

Bucky doesn’t move, just gently lightens his touch on Steve and sits up a little, his stoic expression pulling his beautiful face into a soft scowl.

“Steve,” he says softly, like he’s scolding a child. He shakes his head after a moment, gently rubbing his hand consolingly over Steve’s left hip.

Steve can’t help but think that Bucky clearly doesn’t want to put a stop to where their heated kisses were starting to go. His entire body is pliant against Steve’s, and the hand he’s got on Steve’s hip is only pulling Steve’s body closer to him. His pupils are dilated, and his breaths are heavy as he pants lightly.

“Please,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s lips, trying to move closer, but Bucky leans away. He clenches his eyes shut at the sound of Steve’s pleas, inhaling sharply. Hearing Steve beg for him has always been Bucky’s weakness.

“Baby,” Bucky says gently, his voice hesitant but strained. He sighs deeply, then shakes his head again as he gives Steve an apologetic look.

“Okay,” Steve sighs, his own frown beginning to tug at his lips. “Why not?”

“I almost bit you the last time we. . .” Bucky trails off, shaking his head again. “I can’t, baby. Not until I find out what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing _wrong_ with you,” Steve argues, narrowing his eyes at Bucky in displeasure.

“I’m not in control of my shift, Stevie,” Bucky replies, his deep tenor uncompromising. “I’m afraid that if we’re. . . intimate again, I’ll want to bite you again. I barely stopped myself the last time, baby. I don’t want to risk it.”

Steve sighs again, slumping down a little. The worst part is, he knows Bucky’s being incredibly sweet and genuine, but Steve can feel how Bucky was beginning to react to him. Steve’s own answering hardness twitches slightly in his sweatpants.

“Believe me,” Bucky says, his nostrils flared. He takes a deep breath, like he needs to steady himself before he can continue. “I want you, too, sweetheart. The way you smell. . .” he trails off again, shaking his head a little. “All I want to do is taste every inch of your skin. I want to press you down into this couch and make love to you until you’re whimpering for me. It’s taking every ounce of what little control I have left to stop myself from fucking you right here.”

Steve’s face heats at Bucky’s words, and his entire body feels hot as he shifts his hips a little, his breath hitching again. “Your words are — ” he says, trying not to whimper, “are not helping.”

“I know,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t sound teasing. He looks up at Steve earnestly, moving the hand that was rubbing over his hip up to cup his face. He grins a little. “Besides, this couch is also far too small for me too fuck you properly.”

Steve _does_ whimper at that, letting his head loll forward and rest against Bucky’s forehead. Bucky’s thumb rubs over his cheekbone, and he chuckles softly, although it comes out heavy and breathless. He’s clearly just as affected by his own words as Steve is.

Bucky leans up and kisses his forehead softly in reassurance. He leans his forehead back against Steve’s, saying quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

Steve exhales slowly, nodding. Now that he’s finally got his answer for Bucky’s sudden shift in behavior, he feels better, knowing that Bucky’s just trying to protect him like he always does.

Steve doesn’t want to think about what will happen if Bucky doesn’t find out why he’s so out of control of himself. He hasn’t gone this long without Bucky touching him since they started dating. Even more importantly, though, he wants Bucky to feel like he’s in control of himself again, to know that his actions are his own. Steve can wait for him for as long as he needs.

He just nods again, saying, “I know.” He leans back out of Bucky’s space before he can let himself get too caught up in the feel of Bucky’s hard body pressed underneath him, and huffs. “Just — give me a minute.”

Bucky chuckles weakly but lets go of Steve so he can sit on the opposite side of the couch. Steve takes deep breaths, trying not to think about Bucky fucking him into the couch, or how sexy Bucky looks with his hair mused from where Steve had been pulling at it. Bucky’s own breathing is heavy, and Steve knows that the smell of his arousal isn’t helping Bucky calm down any. It takes a few minutes, but Steve eventually relaxes, having softened enough to be able to ignore the lingering arousal still prominent in his veins, and crawls back into Bucky’s arms, barely biting back another sigh.

Bucky just kisses his forehead apologetically, his hand returning to Steve’s neck but stays strictly away from the base of his throat, and settles in to watch whatever’s now playing on the T.V.

Steve doesn’t really pay much attention after that, mind racing with thoughts of the masquerade. He doesn’t want anything to go wrong, either with Rumlow or with obtaining the foundation’s check. He can only hope that everything goes how it’s supposed to.

At some point, he falls asleep on Bucky’s chest, but when he wakes up from his alarm on Wednesday morning, he’s in their bed with Bucky’s arms wrapped securely around him.

Bucky’s anxious as he watches Steve get out of their bed, eyes trailing after him as he steps into the bathroom to brush his teeth and start his shower, and tracks him again when Steve gets out, a towel wrapped around his waist as he walks into their closet. He clearly hasn’t slept at all again, and Steve can’t help but frown. Bucky’s normal brooding scowl is on his face when Steve turns to him, dressed in a dark blue Henley and jeans, and moves to take his gun and holster out of his nightstand.

Bucky’s eyes are pinched and dark with anxiety when Steve finally rounds the bed to kiss him, his teeth grinding as he frowns.

“Are you worried about tonight?” Steve asks, stopping at Bucky’s hips.

Bucky makes a noise in his throat. “Yes,” he replies, his frown deepening. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I know,” Steve nods at him. “I don’t either. We’ll get through it. Hopefully, we’ll be rid of Rumlow come this time tomorrow.”

Bucky huffs at that, his eyes narrowed. Steve just smiles at him.

“I’ll see you tonight, Buck,” Steve says, leaning down to kiss him. “I love you.”

Bucky tilts his head up to meet Steve’s lips. “I love you, too,” he says once Steve pulls back, his gray eyes cloudy.

Steve heads into the precinct after that, reluctant to leave Bucky’s side but knows he can’t stay to try to ease some of Bucky’s growing tension. The full moon is tomorrow, and Bucky may not be showing any signs of it affecting him yet, but Bucky’s always just a tad fidgety leading up to a full moon, and adding his anxiety over the ball tonight into his normal edginess around the pull of the moon isn’t going to be a good mix. Bucky won’t relax until the moon has passed and the omega is gone, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels any better about leaving him right now.

Work that day is slow. The hours pass by infinitesimally as he, Sam, Natasha, and Sharon discuss the more specific details about when to arrive and where to meet inside once everyone has arrived. Steve and Sharon are supposed to arrive a few minutes after Sam and Natasha, around eight o’clock. Steve’s going to pick Sharon up at her condo on Flushing Ave. at seven thirty, which gives them plenty of time to make the trek back into the thick of Brooklyn where the art museum is.

They’re all going to meet at the back of the building towards the Roman exhibit, as that exhibit is away from all security checkpoints and cameras. They’re not supposed to take off their masks, and their service weapons need to be concealed from sight. Steve’s not sure how Natasha plans to conceal her weapon while wearing a dress, but Sharon’s chosen not to bring her gun with her this time, so he doesn’t have to worry about helping her to conceal hers.

Steve and Sam drive to Sam’s tailor to pick up their suits around lunch time, and Sam tries to make light conversation as they drive. Steve hadn’t needed to buy a new suit for the ball, but he hasn’t worn this suit in years. The suit jacket was too tight around his biceps, and his dress pants had hugged his thighs uncomfortably. He’d thought about just wearing the same suit he’d worn to Peggy’s engagement party, but then he’d remembered that Bucky had torn it off of him, and he’d scrapped that idea quickly, resigning himself to getting his other suit altered.

They pick up their suits quickly, driving back towards the precinct and stopping at a fast food restaurant on the way. Sam, who can either tell that Steve’s nervous or understands him well enough to know that he’s not going to be all that talkative right now, just buys his lunch and makes a joke that Steve’s going to be the best dressed out of all both the men _and_ the women that night, and Steve laughs, dispelling some of his pent up anxiety.

When they return to the precinct, Sharon reminds them not to forget to bring their badges, and Sam mockingly salutes her and tells her not to worry. Both he and Sam have talked to Sharon about how to stay undercover and what to do if that cover gets blown. He reminds her gently that it’ll be easier if she lets him take the lead, and she happily nods back at him, enthusiastically assuring him that she knows what to do.

He doesn’t end up leaving the precinct until close to six thirty, and Sam gives him a wink and tells him not to worry and that he’ll see him at the ball as they head to their cars.

Bucky’s bike isn’t parked on the street when Steve pulls up, and when Steve walks into their apartment, Bucky isn’t in any of the rooms when he checks. He hangs his suit up on the back door of the closet, frowning, his mind automatically wandering back to his fear that Bucky’s not in control of himself because of the full moon, but steadies himself with a calming breath and heads for the shower. He’s sure that Bucky’s fine.

When he gets out of the shower, he quickly dries himself off and walks over to the mirror to dry his hair. He doesn’t really know how to style his hair, but he dries it with the towel and lets it air dry for a few minutes before he goes on the hunt for a hairbrush. He places a small amount of hair pomade into his palm, then runs it through his blond locks a tad messily. His hair sticks up slightly, but it looks soft and perfectly tousled, so he decides to leave it.

He gets slightly worried when he heads back out into the living room to see if Bucky’s gotten in yet, but the couch is empty when he looks at it. He walks back into their bedroom, moving to the closet to put on his suit, and reminds himself that Bucky’s most likely fine and might just be running late.

He debates for a few seconds on whether or not to wear his dog tags, but he decides they’re not going to hurt anything and leaves them around his neck. He pulls the dress pants of his suit on, and they don’t hug his thighs like they had before, but they still accentuate the muscles of his legs. They’re still a bit tight, but it’s not uncomfortable, so he continues.

His dress shirt is plain white, and it fits tightly across his chest but doesn’t inhibit his range of motion. He grabs the black tie and carefully ties it around his neck, buttoning up the last button of his collar so it sits more comfortably around his neck. Like Steve had thought, the collar covers the remaining hickies on his throat, and the cotton scrapes against his clavicle a little, and he blushes slightly at the heat it sends pricking over his neck.

The vest that matches the rest of his suit wraps around him easily, and he slings the suit jacket over his arm and leans down to grab his dress shoes and a longer pair of dress socks. He puts them both on, tying the shoes, and then stands, shrugging into the jacket.

He looks at himself in the full length mirror in their closet, and Steve fixes his collar and loosens his tie a little, watching his reflection. The entire suit is midnight black, a nice contrast against his pale skin and blond hair. He looks average, he supposes. His shoulders are a little wider, and his biceps look broader against the suit jacket, still pulled taut against his skin even after it’d been properly tailored.

He can still move freely, though, and he fixes his tie one last time before he grabs the other bag inside the suit garment and walks into the bathroom.

The mask inside the bag is a deep gold, almost brassy in the lighting of the bathroom. It’s supposed to tie around Steve’s head, but he finds himself somewhat dreading putting it on. It’s not overly big, just wide enough to cover the upper part of his face. He holds it up against his face in the mirror, frowning, but thinks it does a good enough job at mostly obscuring his features if Pierce were to glance at him.

The sound of their front door opening has him moving from the bathroom, and he drops the mask from his face as he heads down the short hall.

Bucky’s gaze meets his when Steve fully walks into the living room, his eyes widening when he realizes what Steve’s wearing, and he inhales sharply.

His eyes trail over Steve’s body, skittering over the suit like he doesn’t know where he wants to look the most. Steve feels himself blush under Bucky’s gaze, the weight of it making him feel a little hot.

Bucky’s eyes trail over Steve’s legs, and he sucks in another sharp breath when he brings his gaze back up to meet Steve’s, his face coloring a little.

“Wow,” Bucky breathes, and he sounds breathless. “You look — ah. . . _really_ good.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, smiling a tad shyly. He walks over to their dining room table and tosses both his mask and his phone onto the tabletop, turning around to face Bucky again.

Bucky continues to watch him, his eyes fixed on Steve’s throat, right where the bruises are, like he can still see them even though Steve’s covered them with the collar of his dress shirt. Steve swallows around his dry tongue, trying not to blush further at the heat in Bucky’s eyes. His bruises throb from the weight of Bucky’s stare.

“I — um,” Bucky chokes, clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath. “You look stunning, baby.”

Steve _does_ preen at that, his blush deepening.

“You’re all set, then?” Bucky asks, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Steve.

Steve nods. “Yes. You aren’t ready, though, Buck. You need to leave soon.”

“I know,” Bucky says, shifting his weight. He takes a step back, picking something up off of the side table by the door, then walks towards Steve. He clears his throat again, moving his hand in front of him.

Steve smiles widely when he sees that Bucky’s holding a bouquet of red roses out towards him, and he reaches out to take them from his hand, his heart fluttering. “You got me flowers?”

Bucky nods, grinning at him. “I might not be your date tonight, but. . .” he trails off, giving a small shrug, and moves to place his hand on Steve’s hip.

“You’re the one I’ll be thinking about,” Steve says immediately, moving the roses closer to his face so he can inhale their heady scent. He grabs the stem of the one closest to his hand, tugging gently to free it from the rest of the bundle. “When I’m with Sharon, I’ll be thinking about you.” He offers the single rose to Bucky, who gives him a wolfish grin, and takes it, moving to run the petals over Steve’s jaw.

Steve’s smile widens, and he inhales one last time before pulling away, heading towards the kitchen. He unwraps the package holding the bouquet together, reaching up to a top cabinet and pulling down a glass vase. He quickly fills the vase with water, grabbing the stems and gently putting the remaining flowers delicately into the glass. Bucky comes up behind him, putting his single rose alongside the others in the water with a quick kiss to the side of Steve's head.

“Thank you for the flowers, Buck,” he says softly. “I love them.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” Bucky replies, and Steve moves the vase where the sun will reach it the next morning, turning around and pulling Bucky closer by the lapels of his leather jacket. Bucky goes with him, giving Steve a wide grin before reaching up and running his thumb along Steve’s jawline, pulling their mouths together.

Bucky kisses him slowly, the feel of his lips sensual as he slowly licks his way into Steve’s mouth. Steve melts against him, leaning further back against the island and pulling Bucky in towards his body.

Steve feels hot under his collar, his heart racing in his ears when Bucky kisses down the column of his throat. Just the feel of Bucky’s lips on him has him biting back a moan. He needs to leave soon to pick up Sharon, but the way Bucky’s pressing into him, like the last vestiges of his control have finally completely crumbled, has Steve ready to start begging for more.

“You look fucking gorgeous, Steve,” Bucky whispers into his ear, biting at the lobe as soon as he gets the words out. Steve chokes on a whimper, his entire body thrumming with heat. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, his voice breathy as he fights to hold in a gasp.

“I hate that anyone else gets to see you like this,” Bucky continues, biting down lightly on the sensitive spot underneath Steve’s ear. Steve’s breath hitches. “I hate that _she_ gets to see you like this.”

“Buck,” Steve repeats, his hands tightening in Bucky’s jacket.

Bucky nudges his collar down a little, loosening Steve’s tie as his other hand tightens on Steve’s hip. He mouths at the skin of Steve’s neck, his breathing ragged.

“Fuck, I want to rip this suit off of you, Steve,” Bucky says, a low growl in his throat, and both of his hands move to Steve’s waist, before he grabs both of Steve’s thighs and gently lifts him onto the counter.

Steve inhales sharply when he makes contact with the countertop, his dick twitching when Bucky moves into the open space between his legs. Steve doesn’t remember spreading them, but he gasps when Bucky works a hand between his thighs, palming at the growing hardness between his legs.

Bucky’s still working his mouth over Steve’s neck, pointedly lowering it so he can kiss over Steve’s collarbone. Steve tilts his head back to give Bucky better access, and Bucky growls again, biting down and sucking hard. Steve’s eyes roll back in his head at the spark of heat it sends down his spine, and he moans hotly, shifting his hips.

Bucky licks over the new bruise, leaning back to admire the red splotch on Steve’s skin. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes bleeding in and out of that gorgeous red, and his mouth is sinfully parted, swollen from Steve’s own lips.

Steve whimpers at Bucky’s half-hooded gaze, biting his bottom lip. This definitely is not helping Bucky hold onto his control right now.

“Buck, I have to — ” Steve cuts himself off, clearing his throat when he can’t continue. “I have to go, baby.”

“I know,” Bucky says, looking at Steve under that hooded gaze with dilated pupils. “I’m sorry. I just saw you and. . . ”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, his eyes trailing over Steve’s body again as he bites his bottom lip, but Steve has a pretty good idea at what he was getting at.

“You like the suit, huh?” he teases, still breathless as he tries not to writhe under Bucky’s piercing gaze.

Bucky nods once, running his hands up Steve’s sides and fixing Steve with a heated look. “ _‘Like it’?_ You drive me fucking _crazy_ , Steve. Fuck, you’re so sexy. So fucking pretty.”

His words have Steve’s breath hitching again, and his dick twitches against his dress pants as his blush deepens.

“You — ” Steve tries, swallowing. “You need to get ready. And I’ve got to fix my tie.”

The truth is, if he doesn’t stop this now, he’s not _going_ to. If Bucky doesn’t stop looking at him like this, like he’s imagining every dirty thing he wants to do to him, like he’s desperately trying not to just say _fuck it_ and hold Steve up against the nearest wall and fuck him until Steve can’t even _breathe_ with how much he wants Bucky, Steve’s going to _lose_ it. It’s taking all of his restraint, and the knowledge of what they all need to do at this ball tonight, for him to stop himself from pouncing. He’s already got the words half formed in his mouth — it’s right on the tip of his tongue to start outright _begging_ Bucky to keep touching him — but he takes a deep breath and swallows the words down. He knows he needs to leave.

The worst part, Steve thinks, is that if he so much as muttered the word _please_ , Bucky probably wouldn’t be able to hold himself back anymore. The moment Steve starts begging Bucky — to touch him or to fuck into him harder — it’s Bucky’s undoing. Steve can’t do that right now. Not when Bucky’s hanging by the skin of his teeth. Not when he’s told Steve he’s afraid he’ll want to bite Steve again if they give into each other. And especially not when they’re about to try to convince another werewolf to leave Bucky’s territory. They’ve got to get their heads on straight.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeats, kissing Steve’s forehead, and sounding so genuine it makes Steve’s heart skip a beat. “I got a little carried away when I was thinking about Sharon seeing you like this. If she had trouble keeping her hands to herself before, she’s definitely going to now.”

Steve chuckles a little, still trying to catch his breath. “Baby. . .”

“I know,” Bucky says again, a low growl in his throat as he kisses Steve’s brow. “I'm just jealous. It’s a _ball,_ Steve. She’s going to get to dance with you. . .touch you. And you look _beautiful,_ Steve. There’s no way she’s _not_ going to enjoy seeing you in this suit.”

“You know I wish I was going with you, Buck,” Steve says gently, moving his hands from Bucky’s jacket to run his fingers up through Bucky’s hair. “I hate that you’re going to see us together like that. It doesn’t mean _anything_ , sweetheart. It’s all pretend. You’re the one I’ll be coming home with tonight.”

Bucky seems to relax slightly at that, but he still growls softly again. Steve lifts Bucky’s head up to kiss him again, smiling when they part.

“I’ll be thinking about you the entire time, baby,” he says. “If we have to dance together, I’ll be thinking about your hands on me. I’ll be wishing it was you I was dancing with. You’re the only person I want to dance with, anyway.”

Bucky’s frown turns into a wide grin, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to Steve’s lips. He whispers, “Okay,” against Steve’s mouth, giving him one last lingering peck before he takes a few steps back. “I don’t want to mess up your pretty suit.”

Steve laughs at that, shaking his head fondly, before pulling the dress shirt and vest down to lay flat against his body again, retucking the white cotton into his pants. He’s still feeling hot beneath the surface of his skin, but he’s letting himself calm down.

He quickly makes his way into the bathroom on the other side of the kitchen, gaze drifting over the new bruise on his collarbone, before he blushes even redder and makes quick work on fixing the collar and tightening the tie. His pupils are still dilated, and his lips are swollen, but he otherwise looks the same as he had before Bucky had pounced on him.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Bucky’s still leaning against the counter, watching as Steve tucks his detective’s badge into one of the inner pockets of his suit and situates his gun against the small of his back, draping the jacket across his back so the gun is hidden.

He walks towards the front door, grabbing the golden mask he’d thrown on the dining room table, and pockets his phone. Bucky moves towards him, frowning again, and asks, “Do you have your wolfsbane?”

Steve motions towards his briefcase that’s propped against the side table, saying, “I’ve got to get it out of my briefcase.”

Bucky nods, watching as Steve leans down and takes the small herb out of the outermost pocket, quickly tucking it into his breast pocket. Bucky wrinkles his nose at the smell of it, like he’d done a few days ago when he’d shown the herb to Steve, and Steve furrows his brow.

“Will Rumlow be able to smell this on me?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “He might smell something, but he most likely won’t know what it is. Most bitten werewolves don’t know what wolfsbane is.”

Steve nods, relaxed by the answer. He raises his eyebrows at Bucky again, asking, “Should I bring some of this to Sam?”

“I’ll bring more with me,” Bucky answers, walking towards the side table. “I’ll try to give some of it to Sam. Did you tell him what it was?”

For a moment, Steve feels a tad panicked. It’d slipped his mind to tell Sam, but now he really wishes he would have.

“That’s okay,” Bucky assures him, most likely smelling Steve’s panic. “I’ll tell him what it is. It’s just a precaution, anyway.”

Steve nods again, walking to the door. He grabs his car keys, looking at Bucky when Bucky continues to block the door.

“Please be safe,” Bucky says, his stoic face tense. His eyes are hard and serious, and Steve nods at him. “I’ll be listening the entire time. If you feel like you’re in danger, just say it. I’ll be at your side in a heartbeat.”

“I’ll be alright, baby,” Steve says, tilting his head to press a reassuring kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Everything is going to be fine, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t smile or nod, just continues watching Steve’s face. He moves out of the doorway a second later, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead. Bucky’s face is unreadable when he pulls away from Steve, crossing his arms as his normal scowl settles over his face.

“I love you,” Steve tells him, taking a step away from the door to run his hand over Bucky’s jawline. “No matter what happens tonight — I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bucky says, uncrossing his arms to rest them lightly on Steve’s hips as he inhales deeply, breathing in Steve’s calming scent.

They stay like that for another moment, their hearts beating as one, before Steve reluctantly pulls away, giving Bucky one last soft smile before he disappears behind the door.

—

“You look. . .” Steve trails off, not quite sure how he wants to finish his sentence as Sharon stands in front of him, giving him a small smirk. Steve blinks at her, dumbfounded, as he stands in the small alcove of her condo. His mind goes completely blank as he takes in her appearance.

He’d been able to calm himself down tremendously as he’d driven to her condo, but all of that residual calmness is quickly leaving him again. When he’d looked at himself in the reflection of the Camaro’s window after he’d stepped out of the car in front of Sharon’s front door, he was still a tad flushed and his eyes were glassy, but if Sharon were to ask him about it, he could most likely pass himself off as nervous about the ball.

He wasn’t completely lying, he’d realized, as he’d walked to Sharon’s front door. Steve hasn’t taken someone out on a date who wasn’t Bucky for almost three and a half years now, even if the date isn't _really_ a date.

But he knows how to be a gentleman, so he’d steadied himself as he knocked gently on the wooden door, taking a short step back and inhaling deeply through his nostrils.

He wasn’t entirely prepared for what, or rather, _who_ meets him.

Sharon’s already wearing her mask, a matching plated flimsy thing that’s obviously meant to coincide with Steve’s own golden mask. It’s more intricate than Steve’s, he notices, with the slits of the eye pulled upwards to resemble a slightly feline stare, and more whorls and swirls protruding from the cheekbones that draws even more attention to her brown eyes.

The dress she’s wearing is tight and pulled taut against her curves. It flatters her body, accentuating her breasts, and he feels himself flush deeper when his eyes sweep over her. The way the dress clings to her is nothing short of provocative and sultry, but the black shine of her skintight bodice is something she’s clearly comfortable in.

She’s wearing golden jewelry to fit with their golden theme, and a small but flattering pendant adorns her neck, which only draws even more attention to her plump breasts.

Sharon is clearly comfortable in her own skin.

He clears his throat, aware that he’d been staring. “You look great,” he tries again, clearing his throat once more.

The look Sharon gives him is predatory and flirty, and she flashes her white teeth at him, giving him a small chuckle. She’s obviously pleased at his reaction, enjoying the effect she thinks she’s had on him.

While she’s not entirely wrong, Steve’s mostly embarrassed at the fact that he’s told Bucky not to be jealous, but deep down, that reassurance he’d had is slipping. The effect she thinks she’s had on him certainly isn’t positive. Sharon’s obviously tried hard to get a sort of reaction out of him, and while he can admit that she does look beautiful, there’s no way that Bucky is going to take a look at them and not get jealous of the sight of them together.

He’s not looking at Sharon because he likes what he sees. He’s looking at Sharon because he knows what they’ll look like together at the masquerade, with those perfectly manicured hands on him, and when Bucky sees them together, he might _lose_ it, and that is _not_ what needs to happen tonight.

Another part of him is uncomfortable. Sharon knows he’s in a committed relationship, yet she’s also clearly trying to act as some sort of temptation for him, even though it’s not working. Steve hadn’t really found her beautiful before, although he knew that everyone around him had thought of her as attractive.

But Steve has _Bucky_ as a boyfriend, who’s the most beautiful person Steve’s ever seen. He can’t reasonably look at Sharon and find her appealing to him at all. Bucky’s absolutely _ruined_ him for anyone else.

Sharon tucks a lock of her curled hair back behind her shoulder, and he’s so shocked at seeing her actually look like this because he’s so used to seeing her with her long hair plain and slicked back into a ponytail that he watches as she giggles at him, actually _giggles_ at him, and says, “Thank you. You look amazing, Steve.”

Her words have no effect on him, not like how Bucky’s had. Bucky had made him feel like he was the most gorgeous person in the world. Sharon doesn’t ignite anything in him.

Her eyes sweep over his body, that predatory glint shining brightly behind her mask. The way she looks at him makes him uncomfortable. He’d barely been able to stop himself from whimpering at Bucky’s gaze. Bucky’s eyes had made him feel hot all over. Sharon’s gaze has him fighting to hold back a grimace.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” he says by way of an apology. “I lost track of time.”

His excuse has him shifting his weight slightly, overcome with thoughts of _why_ he was late. The phantom touch of Bucky’s mouth on his neck has Steve blushing a little, and his cotton dress shirt scrapes lightly over the new bruise on his collarbone, and it throbs at the pressure, sending a thrill down his spine.

Sharon just waves a dismissive hand at him, oblivious to his thoughts, and says, “You’re fine, Steve. Nothing to apologize for. We’ll still get there in time.”

He nods at her, trying to hide his flushed cheeks, and says, “Okay. Thank you. Are you ready to go?”

She nods, turning around inside the doorway and grabbing a small clutch purse, black like her dress, and closes the door, swiftly locking it. She smiles at him and says, “Lead the way, Detective.”

The drive is full of tense silence for a while. Sharon doesn’t say anything to him as he walks her back to the Camaro, and he opens the door for her because he’s polite and then closes it before walking to the driver’s side. She briefly smiles at him when he sits down, and he gives her a small grin that he hopes comes off as friendly instead of discomforting, but she doesn’t say anything to him as he pulls off of the street.

It’s not until ten tense minutes pass before he feels her eyes on him again, and he glances at her out of the corner of his eye before she quickly looks away, her cheeks coloring at having been caught.

Steve just continues to drive, trying not to show how nervous he is as each mile draws them closer and closer to the gallery.

“What’s Bucky doing tonight?” Sharon asks after another silent minute passes, and Steve glances at her in surprise, having not expected her to ask him that.

Steve clears his throat before responding. “He’s ah — at home,” he settles on after a split second of hesitating. He’s not entirely sure why she’s asking.

Sharon just nods, glancing out of the window. “Does he know what we’re doing tonight?” she asks, and Steve glances at her again, his brow furrowing. _What_ we’re _doing tonight_ , she’d said, as if that somehow made their situation better.

“Yes,” Steve replies, gripping the steering wheel. “He knows we’re going to a ball, but he doesn’t know why. I can only tell him so much about an ongoing investigation.”

It’s partly a lie, but he doesn’t even blink as he says it to her.

“Did he have any issues with you going on a date with someone else?” she asks, and this time he can feel her look over at him, like she’s actually curious to know the answer.

“It’s a pretend date,” Steve says slowly, noting how her eyes quickly dart away. Like she’s trying not to roll her eyes. “Bucky understands our job. He knows the limits we’ll go to at times. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Sharon assures him quickly. “I’m just trying to make conversation. You seem a little anxious.”

Steve looks at her quickly, flipping his indicator down so he can turn left towards the art museum. There are cars everywhere, but he steers the Camaro in the direction of the adjacent parking lot. There’s a line for valet parking, but Steve stays clear of it. He doesn’t particularly want to hand his keys over to a stranger, and if security catches on to them, they all might need to get away quickly before they’re caught.

“Besides,” Sharon says suddenly as he pulls into a parking spot, “if I was the person you were in a relationship with, I’d probably have a problem with you attending a ball with someone else. Especially with the way you look tonight.”

She’s out of the car before he can respond, but Steve still looks over towards the passenger side of the car in shock. Sharon’s never outright said anything like that before. She’s never commented on his appearance, although, objectively, he knows she at least likes the way he looks. Her lingering stares have told him enough about how much she appreciates his body.

He feels uncomfortable again as he grabs his mask, quickly placing it onto his face and tying it behind his head. He can’t keep letting her say things like that to him. He shouldn’t have waited this long to politely ask her to stop flirting with him. Sharon’s not even saying anything provocative or inappropriate, but the tone she’s telling him these compliments with is downright sultry, and all she’s doing is making him feel even more awkward. Sharon knows how serious his relationship is with Bucky; there’s no hiding how Steve feels about him. Everything Sharon’s trying to do is ultimately so she can act as some sort of wedge between them, and it’s not going to work.

Steve fixes his mask to sit more comfortably on the bridge of his nose and pulls his keys from the ignition. He sighs before opening the door, stepping out and fixing his suit jacket absentmindedly to help him feel more level-headed and calm. He can’t let Sharon’s actions get to him too much. He’ll deal with her tomorrow. They just need to get through tonight.

Sharon smiles at him when he walks around the rear of the car to meet her, and he quickly locks the Camaro and tuck his keys into his pocket. He feels himself recoil a little at the thought of taking Sharon’s hand so they can assume their coupley roles, but he reaches out for her despite his unwillingness to do so, and she takes his hand enthusiastically, eyeing him with that same predatory glint.

He doesn’t say anything to her as they wade through the cars and doesn’t acknowledge the slight tension between them. He gently pats the small of his back to make sure his gun is secure as they reach the entrance of the building, and immediately feels himself tense when he sees the security guards and all of the remaining couples waiting to enter the building.

They’ve made it to the masquerade at the time they were supposed to, and Steve doesn’t see Sam or Natasha waiting outside as he and Sharon walk up the steps to join the rest of the guests, which means they’re most likely already inside.

Sharon eyes the security guards a tad nervously and tightens her grip on his arm when they make it to the top of the stairs. Steve just leans down and gives her a reassuring squeeze, saying quietly, “Relax.”

She nods at him, giving him a tentative smile. He continues, “Don’t draw attention to yourself. Sound confident when they ask you for your name.”

His eyes glance towards the three security guards in front of them, and they all patiently watch as the couple in front of Sharon and Steve animatedly talks to them. They don’t seem the type to look too closely unless provoked, but Steve tries to relax his posture anyway. He doesn’t want them to look too closely at either him or Sharon.

His efforts prove true. None of the security guards so much as blink at them as a burly one asks for their names, and Steve confidently answers back with their aliases as the man quickly darts his eyes over the guest list. A stocky one asks Sharon to open her clutch, which she does without a second thought, showing him the contents. He just nods when she’s finished, glancing at the third man, who mutters something into his wrist where Steve assumes a microphone to his radio is hidden.

The burly man in front of Steve looks up at them after finding their names, saying curtly, “Enjoy the benefit, sir,” and then to Sharon, “miss.”

Steve nods at him in thanks, quickly stepping forward and away from the security guards.

He’s immediately met with an elegant silver foyer once they step into the brick building. It’s clearly been decorated to fit with a certain theme of the night, and two more security guards direct them to the left of the foyer, where they enter the open space of the gallery.

All of the artwork on display are classic renderings of Renaissance paintings. They clearly aren’t originals, but instead painted in the style that insinuates the future depicted from the past. There are night skies painted to resemble a cloudy face, buildings rendered in pastel to show the current lack of human space in society, and dozens of different paintings of abstract art. Steve eyes each of them carefully as they walk deeper into the gallery.

The music that’s playing is a contrast to the classical artwork around them. A deep, sensual beat reverberates through his chest as they delve deeper throughout the room. The majority of the couples are dancing in the middle of the gallery, with only a few stray guests drinking champagne and chatting with others around small tables off to the side of the paintings.

Every individual is wearing a mask as he passes, and each one of them is dressed even more exquisitely as he watches them. Waiters roam in between the dancing couples with drinks and small platters full of what looks like hors d'oeuvres, each one of them with an elegant but plain silver mask. They’re obviously meant to be looked over, each of them dressed the same in matching suits.

The entire building flows in accordance with the elegant silver theme. The frames of the paintings are silver and sleek, and each security guard standing against the brick seems to fade in with the many waiters with their own silver masks.

A few balls of light illuminate the gallery, along with colored lanterns dangling from the arches of the brick ceiling, but it’s otherwise dimly lit in the middle of the room. The ceiling above them is punctuated with chandeliers of swirled, colored glass, illuminating the artwork hanging on the old bricks of the gallery.

Steve feels Sharon tug slightly on his arm, and when he looks towards where she was pulling him, he sees a man across from them with his head thrown back in laughter. He’s wearing an intricate black mask, and the designs on it draw attention to his feline smile as he pulls a woman closer to him by her waist. The woman in front of him places a gentle hand on his chest in amusement, her eyes bright behind her navy mask as she watches him. The man is clearly Alexander Pierce.

Steve nods at Sharon to acknowledge that he sees Pierce too, and he sweeps his eyes around the room, scanning the rest of the crowd.

All of the guests seem oblivious to his gaze, but Steve tries to subtly search the rest of the gallery for any sign of Rumlow. If Rumlow isn’t in the gallery, there’s no point in Bucky coming here.

Steve’s eyes glaze over the bar, where a man in a dark suit is sipping at a glass full of dark liquid. He’s already staring at Steve when Steve looks over at him, and Steve’s heart accelerates in his chest when their eyes meet. He knows the man leaning against the bar is Rumlow.

Part of Steve wants to walk over to him right then, where he’s alone and by himself at the bar, but Sharon tugs on his arm again, and he looks at her. She pulls him back towards the far side of the gallery, where Steve sees Natasha and Sam waiting for them by the Roman exhibit.

Sam meets his gaze when he and Sharon are close enough, and Steve tilts his head back towards the bar before taking a step closer to Sharon, darting his eyes quickly back towards Rumlow. Sam tracks his movements, taking a sip from a glass that Steve knows is most likely water meant to be disguised as vodka, and looks towards the bar. He immediately meets Steve’s eyes again, giving him a subtle shake of his head. He knows Rumlow’s here, too.

“You both look amazing,” Sharon says to Natasha and Sam, smiling widely.

Natasha’s wearing a tight, dark navy dress that hugs her body in a way that makes Steve’s cheeks darken. While he might not find Sharon attractive, he objectively does think that Natasha is very beautiful. She looks good next to Sam, who’s in a dark suit not unlike Steve’s, and his navy tie goes well with the color of her dress. They’re both wearing cream colored masks, and the fiery red of Natasha’s loose locks are a stark contrast against the flimsy material, but she looks amazing even in the dim light of the exhibit. Sam’s got a small smile on his face as he glances at Natasha, but he quickly darts his eyes away from her when Steve catches his eyes, and he takes another sip of his water.

“You both clean up nice,” Natasha says in response, her lips curled in her usual smirk.

“I told you that you’d be the best dressed tonight, _hot damn_ , partner!” Sam says, taking a step closer to Steve and pulling him into a one armed hug. He leans in close to Steve’s ear and says quietly, “Your man on his way home, yet?”

Sam’s really asking if Bucky’s arrived and is waiting for them on the second level, but Steve has no idea if he’s here or not yet, so he lifts his shoulders slightly in response, but Sam just takes it in stride, leaning back slightly. “I think we might have entered the _Twilight Zone,”_ Steve mutters to him as Sam glances over his shoulder.

Steve doesn’t need to look at where Sam’s glancing to know he’s looking over to where Rumlow’s sitting. He also knows Sam understands what Steve’s trying to tell him: _he’s watching us._

The only tactic they've got working for them right now is that Rumlow has no idea that they know that he’s the omega. They don’t want to tip him off and have him leaving before Steve can corner him, so the best thing they can do right now until Bucky gets there is to act normal. They have to assume that Rumlow can hear them over the music and conversations of the crowd, so Steve and Sam both need to stick to their usual undercover codes.

Sam pulls away from him and gives him a smile before stepping back to Natasha’s side, where he gently wraps his arm around her waist. Natasha doesn’t react at the contact, and Steve watches with a raised brow as she continues to watch the crowd, unbothered by Sam’s closeness.

“Distracting Pierce doesn’t seem to be a problem,” she says as she nods her head to where Pierce is still chatting with the woman in the navy mask, oblivious to their conversation. “Looks like he’s got his hands full.”

“Do we know when the charity is supposed to hand over the check?” Sharon asks quietly.

Natasha shrugs. “Could be anytime now. We’ve all gotten here late, like we’d planned. He’ll hand it over sometime before nine o’clock, when he’s supposed to make that speech.”

An hour. Steve has an hour to try to corner Rumlow before he’s supposed to be at Sharon’s side when she takes the check.

“What do we do until then?” Steve asks.

Even behind her mask, Steve can see the way Natasha raises her eyebrows at him. “Dance,” she suggests, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Pierce. “Eat something. Blend in.”

Steve balks at her, but Sharon just turns to him and grins. “Want to dance?” she asks, a salacious grin on her face.

“Um,” Steve says, a tad panicked. “I was actually going to suggest we — um — ”

“Oh, come on, Steve,” Sharon chuckles at him. “We can’t intervene until Pierce makes his speech. We might as well blend in, right?”

Steve just looks at her. He can’t exactly say that he’s going to need to sneak Bucky in at any moment because he can’t let her know that Bucky’s even going to be here. She arches her eyebrows at him in question, and he stifles a sigh, nodding somewhat resignedly. She squeals a little, actually squeals, before she tightens her hold on his arm and drags him towards the dancing couples.

“Isn’t the guy supposed to be the one to ask the girl to dance?” Sharon asks him as she settles in front of him, and her teasing tone does nothing to dispel his nerves.

“I, uh — ” he starts, feeling his cheeks darken in embarrassment.

Sharon chuckles. “Relax, Steve.” She gives him a soft smile. “I’m just teasing you.”

“I’m not very good at dancing,” he says, and Sharon steps forwardswith another giggle, wrapping her small arms around his neck. She presses up close to him, and he can feel the bodice of her dress press tightly against his chest. He fights back a grimace when she entwines her fingers behind his head.

“That’s okay,” Sharon says quietly right next to his ear. He has to stop himself from tensing at her touch. “We’re just going to sway in circles.”

“I’m going to step on your toes,” Steve warns her, eyes darting back towards where Sam and Natasha are watching them. Sam gives him a sympathetic grimace, but Natasha’s eyes sweep over them towards the rest of the crowd, unbothered.

“You’ll do fine,” Sharon says, trying to soothe him. She moves one of her hands down to where he’s got his hands at his side, gently grabbing his wrist and bringing it to her waist. She smiles up at him. “Just follow my lead.”

She moves his hand further towards the small of her back, and her grin turns sharp as she entwines her fingers behind his head again. Steve sighs softly and moves his other hand to her waist, and she glances up at him approvingly, settling in even closer into his chest. She’s pressed so tightly against him that he’s surprised she can even still move. The fabric of her dress feels harsh beneath his fingertips.

Slowly, Sharon starts to sway them. Steve follows after her, keeping his touch light. He actually does know how to dance, but he’s alright with letting her think he doesn’t if it passes his tenseness off as nerves. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to get away from her long enough to sneak up to the second floor.

If he didn’t have so much on his mind, or he wasn’t distracted by all of his muddled thoughts, Steve might be able to be a little more convincing. Sharon can most likely see that he’s uncomfortable, but she’s being polite and isn’t commenting on his reluctance to dance. Despite his presumed awkwardness, Steve knows how to play a part at times like these. He’s gone undercover with Sam numerous times over the past years they’ve been partners. He knows how to sell himself to look infatuated enough by a woman that the people around him won’t question whether or not he was actually listening into their conversations. He knows that he can pass as a lovesick socialite; he’s just never had to do that around Bucky before. If anything, Steve has to think about Bucky just so he can calm himself down enough to let her take the lead. Steve can’t force himself to look like he’s actually enjoying being harangued by her when all he can think about is trying to get to Bucky. He can’t pretend he’s smitten with Sharon when he knows he’ll see Bucky any minute. Steve can’t fake that he’s besotted with _her_ , not when all he’s thinking about is the man he’s hopelessly in love with.

He has to close his eyes and picture Bucky’s blinding smile to get himself to relax his hands on Sharon’s waist. He thinks about Bucky’s laugh when she runs her thumb along a tendon on the back of his neck. He thinks about the way Bucky had looked at him in his suit when Sharon shifts her body to lightly graze her breasts against his chest again. He thinks about the way Bucky touches him, how gentle and soft he is, when her bare leg caresses his through the slit in her dress. He thinks about Bucky’s lips, how red his mouth is, how it sets his heart alight when those same lips press against his, when Sharon tries to move his hand down lower by shifting her hips.

Sharon tightens her fingers around his neck again, smiling when Steve continues to sway with her. The music around them is something he doesn’t recognize, but it’s still incredibly intimate and sensual. The couples around them are slowly dancing to the music, pressed in close to their partners like he and Sharon are. When they fully turn around again, Steve glances to Sam and Natasha again, and Sam’s whispering something to Natasha that makes her frown before she nods, but Sharon’s moving them again before he can watch them anymore.

All of the couples around them are too caught up in their partners to notice the two of them dancing, but Steve still watches them carefully. He doesn’t want anyone to look too closely at him and see his gun hidden beneath his waistband.

“See? I told you you’d do fine,” Sharon says to him after another song begins to play. It’s even more sensual and sultry. He glances down at her, before quickly looking away. “You just had to get over your nerves.”

“We don’t need to be distracted like this,” Steve tells her quietly, keeping his voice low so the couples around them don’t hear. “It’s always important to know your surroundings when you do things like this. I didn’t want to be distracted from our goal.”

Sharon seems to think about that for a moment, nodding, before she grins widely and leans in to whisper into his ear, “So I distract you, is that it?”

“You’re definitely not helping me focus,” Steve tells her a tad irritably, before he grimaces slightly. She’s definitely not going to take his words how he’d meant them.

Sharon pulls away with a smirk on her lips, and Steve barely keeps the wince off of his face when she quietly mutters, “I’m terribly sorry for distracting you, Steve. You’re quite the distraction yourself.”

To emphasize her point, she trails her eyes down his body pointedly, before stepping in close to him again and pressing her breasts right up against his chest once more.

His hands itch to push her away from him, but he steadies himself and takes a deep breath, relaxing his body.

“You’re so tense,” Sharon says, close to his ear again. “You keep clenching your jaw. Just relax, Steve. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Her words echo in his head for a moment. _Everything’s going to be fine._ He’d said the same words to Bucky not even an hour ago.

“Must be a nervous tic,” Steve tells her, purposefully relaxing his jaw. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing that.

His eyes scan the crowd again as he takes another deep breath. His eyes sweep towards the bar, where Rumlow hasn’t moved from his spot on the stool. He looks just as relaxed as he had been when they’d caught each other’s gaze. Rumlow isn't looking at him now, though. His eyes are drawn towards the bartender as he motions for her to refill his drink.

“Am I making you nervous?” Sharon asks sweetly, chuckling. Her breath caresses the skin of his neck hauntingly. It makes him shudder uncomfortably.

Steve doesn’t answer her, and after a moment, she chuckles at him again. She’s not the one making him nervous, but her touch is doing nothing to settle him. If anything, her hands around his neck are making him even _more_ tense.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Steve. You’re doing great. You’ve got me right where I wanna be,” Sharon says coyly, and everything in Steve’s mind just comes to an abrupt halt.

He tenses, and she pulls away from him slightly to look into his eyes. Her mask catches the light of one of the dimly lit chandeliers above them, and it seems like everyone around them just fades into the bricks of the art gallery as he narrows his eyes at her.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asks after a second, completely still.

Sharon gives him a sultry smile, letting her thumb run down the back of his neck again. “I have been for a while now,” she says, smiling. “You’re just now noticing?”

Steve's eyes dart around them, but none of the other couples are looking at them, so he quietly bites out, “I have a boyfriend, Sharon.”

“I know,” Sharon replies, her eyes trailing over his lips before she looks back up at his eyes. “He must be one hell of a man, too. I’m practically hanging all over you and you’ve barely noticed.”

“So why flirt with me?” Steve asks, his tone terse.

Sharon gives him a little shrug, moving to start swaying them again. Steve watches her for a moment, before allowing her to continue their dance.

“To be honest, Steve,” Sharon starts, looking a tad tentative, “you’re everything I’m looking for in a man. I couldn’t stop myself from flirting with you if I tried. And when I first started at the precinct, I thought you may have been reciprocating for a while, but then I found out you were already in a relationship. That still didn’t deter me, though, like it normally would have. You’re just too. . .” she struggles for a word, before smiling softly and settling on, “ _you._ ”

“I’m in a very serious, _committed_ relationship, Sharon. I’m in love with my boyfriend,” Steve says, unable to hold back his ire. “It’s very presumptuous of you to try to come between us like that.”

Sharon has the decency to recoil slightly at his tone, and she looks away from him after a moment, intimidated. She glances back into his eyes after a moment, sighing. “It’s not an excuse,” she says quietly, belittled, “but I really do like you. I can’t get you out of my head, Steve. I tried to stop thinking about you and I’ve failed over and over again.”

“Sharon — ”

“I think about your voice, about your _laugh_ , constantly,” Sharon says, cutting him off. “Who thinks about someone like that when that person is already in a relationship? Do you think I like thinking about _you_ , when I should be thinking about the nice boy who asked for my number at my favorite coffee shop last week? Or when I should be focusing on my _very important job_ , but I can’t get your voice out of my head? Or when I can’t stop thinking about how nice of a guy you are, how brave it was for you to risk your life for mine when you protected me at that stupid truck stop?” She chuckles harshly. “I don’t want to be hung up on a guy who I know is in love with someone else. Yet here I am — wishing more than _anything_ that I could kiss you right now.”

Steve stares at her, completely stunned silent. He hadn’t known it was that. . . _deep_. He’s only known her for three months. How could he have not realized she was feeling like this the entire time they’ve known each other?

And him _reciprocating?_ That had been him being an actual genuine and polite guy. He’d wanted to show her how nice the people in their precinct could be, even amongst all of the horrific and terrible things they encounter every day. He hadn’t thought his friendliness would come off as anything but him trying to be welcoming. In a way, he’s incredibly annoyed and angry, but he also feels slightly horrible. The last thing he ever wanted to do was lead anyone on. He’s not the type of person to do that, even though he knows he can be somewhat blind by his love Bucky. He’d never _intentionally_ lead anyone on.

“Sharon, I’m — ” he starts, not quite sure what he’s even going to say. He runs a hand through his hair nervously, darting his eyes over the crowd in search of the words that can somehow help him escape this situation. He briefly glances over Sharon’s shoulder, and he completely stiffens when he immediately sees Sam, who’s looking at him with a pinched smile, and Bucky, who’s staring at him so blankly Steve doesn’t even know how to read his expression. Clearly, Sam had been able to get away from Natasha long enough to sneak Bucky in when he’d realized that Steve couldn’t, and now they’re both looking at him like they don’t know what’s going on.

For a second, all Steve can do is stare. Bucky looks so _beautiful_ in the dim light of the chandeliers. He’s wearing a dark red suit, so dark it’s even deeper than blood, with a black dress shirt underneath. The tie around his throat is black but with a sort of pattern on it, and the entire suit hugs his body so tightly that Steve’s brain fizzles out for a second. His matching black mask isn’t ornate or too dressy, but it completely accentuates his gray eyes so they look piercing against his pale skin, and blood rushes in Steve’s ears and he feels his lungs tighten and release a startling breath. The low light of the gallery emphasizes the shadows of Bucky’s face so he looks even more mysterious and dark, ending in a culmination of secrets and tenebrosity. He looks every bit of an Alpha werewolf come to rectify a territory dispute. The music in Steve’s ears completely fades away and all he can hear is static as he just stares at Bucky, completely transfixed on how stunning he looks. Bucky is so beautiful that Steve’s left breathless from the sight of him.

Then Bucky’s eyes snap to Sharon, and his unreadable expression turns into a dangerous and menacing scowl. Steve’s brain comes back online, and he’s immediately feeling his muscles tense again. Sharon’s still got her hands around his neck even though Steve’s stopped moving and isn’t looking at her anymore. Sharon’s eyes are looking in between their bodies, like she’s ashamed, and for a heartbeat, all Steve can think is _good, she should be ashamed_ , before he blinks and shakes his head. He’s not comfortable with her flirting, but at least part of him is mildly sympathetic.

“Sharon,” he says slowly, taking a deep breath. She looks up at him, but there’s no predatory smile or tantalizing glint in her eyes. She’s looking at him, for the first time tonight, with an honest look. He takes another breath. “I think you’re a very valuable member of our team. I respect you and your work, and I consider you a great friend. I’m sorry if it may have seemed like I was being friendlier than I let on, but I really was just trying to be polite. I’m sorry you’re feeling this way.” She nods at him. “But I also need you to understand that I love my boyfriend, and that nothing is _ever_ going to happen between us.”

“I know,” she says quickly, nodding again. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You did,” Steve says quietly, glancing at Bucky again, who glares at Sharon’s backside, before he continues, “but we need to focus on what we’re trying to do tonight. We’re friends, and you and I have a job to do. We can talk about this stuff later.”

She nods quickly, saying quietly, “I’m sorry,” before she takes a step away from him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, eyes locked on where Sam and Bucky are standing. Sharon nods at him, then walks away from the dancing couples back towards the Roman exhibit. Steve doesn’t watch her as she walks away, just moves through the moving bodies until he’s standing right in front of Sam and Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes are still trailing after Sharon as she walks off the dance floor, and Steve reaches out to grab his wrist to get him to stop. Bucky’s eyes snap to his, and Steve watches as he clenches his jaw.

Sam grimaces at him, giving a low whistle. “So. I got him in,” he says by way of greeting, eyes glancing back towards where Rumlow’s now nursing a beer. He’s not looking in their direction when Steve risks a glance towards the bar, but that doesn’t mean he’s not listening.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve replies, staring into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky holds his gaze, unwavering. “Sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You looked. . .busy,” Sam settles on, and Bucky growls lowly under his breath, and Steve huffs out a breath.

“Okay,” he says roughly, tightening his grip on Bucky’s wrist. “Come on.” He doesn’t look back at Sam as he starts tugging Bucky towards one of the small alcoves under the lantern archways. He looks around quickly before spotting a bathroom and quickly pushes the door open, dropping Bucky’s wrist so he can check out the stalls around them.

All of the stalls are empty, and Steve turns back to Bucky slowly, running a hand through his hair nervously. Bucky’s taken his mask off, but he’s still stoic and statuesque as he regards Steve, a scowl on his face.

Steve finds the ribbon of his own mask and unties it, bringing it down and tossing it onto the sink closest to him. He takes a deep breath.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asks slowly, looking into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky’s jaw clenches even further. “Everything after you said you didn’t want to get distracted.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes another deep breath to steady himself. “Bucky,” he says, his voice low, “I’m so sorry.”

Bucky’s eyes sharpen, and he growls again. “What do you have to be sorry for?” he asks tensely. He chuckles bitterly. “You didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t know she was going to say all of that stuff, Buck,” Steve replies, exhaling sharply and running a hand through his hair again. “And I wasn’t getting distracted by _her_. I was distracted because we were dancing.”

“That’s great,” Bucky says, and Steve snaps his eyes up quickly. Bucky just scowls at him. “You know, you don’t really have to tell me this. I already know she’s practically in love with you. I could smell it all over her.”

“Bucky. . .” Steve trails off, his throat tightening. “I. . .I’m in love with _you_. She knows that. And she’s not in _love_ with me.”

Bucky growls again. “Yeah, you told her, and she _still_ said she didn’t give a fuck.”

Steve starts shaking his head, begins opening his mouth to say _something_ , to grasp at _anything_ to try to make Bucky feel better, but Bucky cuts him off, taking a step forward.

“You don’t think I know exactly what she’s talking about? You’re all _I_ fucking think about, too. I hear your heartbeat all the fucking time! Everything about you makes me fucking — _crave you_ ,” he says, now only a few steps away from Steve. He inhales deeply, his eyes wild. “The way you smell drives me _insane_. The feel of your hands on my body is enough to get me _aching_ for you. You’re fucking _beautiful_ — the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Your lips,” he says, his voice heavy as he takes another step forward until he’s standing only a few inches away from Steve. He growls, repeating, “Your _fucking_ lips are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. I think about you all the time. I can’t stop thinking about you. All I want when we’re apart is to be near you again. You’re — ” he cuts himself off, cupping Steve’s face now, breathing heavily. Steve’s own breathing is sporadic and uneven, his heart in his throat. “You’re a part of me. You’re in my fingertips — in my blood. I feel you in every fiber of my being.” Bucky’s voice is only a whisper now, a melody that has no ending or beginning. “I’m completely consumed by you. I’m so in love with you I can’t even think about anything but _you_ anymore. I want to make you laugh, make you smile, make you _happy_ , for the rest of my life. I want to — fuck, I want so many things with you.” Bucky’s body completely envelops him, and Steve feels boneless against him, helpless. He’s frozen against the sink, completely at Bucky’s mercy. “I know _exactly_ what she’s talking about, Steve, because I know what it feels like to be in love with you.”

Steve’s entire body goes hot as Bucky’s words settle over him. All of the thoughts in his brain disappear. He can’t even think about why they’re here, in this bathroom, with the way Bucky’s words wash over him until he feels them in his soul. He’s completely boneless.

“She had no right to say those things to you. Absolutely _no right_. God, the sound of her voice makes me want to rip her head off, Steve. The things she was saying to you. . .” Bucky trails off, shaking his head angrily. “She was looking at you like you were the only person in that room, Steve. That’s how _I_ look at you. She touched you like it was her _right_ , like you _wanted_ her to. She couldn’t see how uncomfortable she was making you. She doesn’t know how to touch you the way you like. The way that _I_ touch you.”

His voice sounds so soothing and intimidating all at once, like he can’t settle himself enough to choose. Steve feels like his breath is caught in his throat. He can’t help the way his body seems to preen at Bucky’s words as his heart stumbles in his chest.

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to gain control of himself, but Bucky tilts is head, crashing their lips together. It’s been almost a week since they’ve been intimate with each other, and the only thing Steve knows is that Bucky hasn’t touched him like this, like he wants to crawl into Steve’s body, into his _skin,_ for way too long.

Bucky’s mouth is insistent on his, and wave after wave of heat washes over him at the feel of Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s hands grip at his waist hotly, and the space between their bodies decreases with every slight pull of his fingertips.

“Her hands were all over you when you were dancing,” Bucky says roughly when he leans away to kiss down Steve’s neck.

Steve tilts his head back, panting harshly. “I know, baby. I hated it. I’m sorry you had to see it.” He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “Is that what got under your skin? That I had to dance with her or that I had to pretend to like it?”

“What got under my skin,” Bucky says, his breathing uneven as he kisses Steve’s pulse point, “was that she said she wanted to kiss you, like you were hers to kiss.”

Steve can’t stop the moan that rips itself from his throat at that, unable to hold back his sounds. He’s forgotten why he was holding himself back, anyway.

“I love that, too,” Bucky says, working his way back up and biting Steve’s earlobe. “The sounds you make for me. Gets me so fucking hot, baby.”

Steve bits his bottom lip again, trying not to whimper. Fuck, why is he trying not to whimper?

“I don’t want her to ever know how to touch you like I do. I wish that she couldn’t even _look_ at you,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “She doesn’t get to look at you like that. She doesn’t get to hear how pretty you sound. She’s not the one you want, is she, baby?”

“No,” Steve moans, panting. “I want _you_ , Buck.”

“I know you do, baby,” Bucky says, his voice thick. “I want you, too.”

“I was thinking about you,” Steve says, breathless. “Just like I said I would be. I wanted you to be the one I was dancing with. I didn’t like having her hands on me. I wanted your hands on me. I’ve missed your hands. I’ve missed your body.”

Bucky kisses down Steve’s neck, and Steve groans.

“God, you’re drivin’ me crazy, Steve,” Bucky says. “I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” Steve pants, hands gripping at Bucky’s waist.

“Fuck,” Bucky groans. “You smell so good.”

Steve takes a deep breath as Bucky’s left hand moves to palm over the front of his dress pants. He whimpers at the touch, his entire body shuddering as a wave of heat runs down his spine.

Bucky leans back after a few seconds, looking into Steve’s eyes. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the heat in Bucky’s eyes. His sinful mouth is cherry-red, parted as he pants. His cheeks are dark and flushed, and Steve feels like his legs are going to give out. Fuck, Bucky is so fucking gorgeous.

Bucky pushes him further against the sink, and Steve goes with him. He’s a little shocked once he makes contact with the faucet, and Steve tries to push through the lust clouding his brain once he’s reminded of his surroundings. Bucky’s making it really hard for him to focus. There’s absolutely no space between their bodies now. Bucky’s pressed into him tightly, like Sharon had been only moments ago, but this time, Steve wants to pull Bucky in even closer to his body. He wants to feel Bucky’s skin against his. He wants to feel Bucky’s hands all over him.

Something niggles in the back of his head as he runs his thumb along Bucky’s bottom lip. He can’t think of anything beyond the way Bucky’s looking at him. God, that look absolutely sets Steve on _fire_.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve pleads, swallowing around his dry tongue.

“Like what?” Bucky asks, his right hand moving to the base of Steve’s throat. He runs his thumb over Steve’s pulse point, gently pushing down. Steve gasps.

“Like it’s taking everything in you to stop yourself from fucking me against this sink,” Steve says, barely able to get the words out when Bucky gently squeezes the sides of his throat. Steve moans brokenly at the pressure, heat pooling between his thighs.

Bucky looks into his eyes deeply, and his eyes bleed that fluorescent red as he bites his bottom lip hotly, like he’s trying to stop himself from saying anything. Steve groans lowly.

“I want it so bad,” Steve tells him, and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. “ _Fuck_ , Bucky. I want to feel you. Want to feel you inside me. It’s been so long.”

“Steve. . .” Bucky breathes out heavily, his eyes trailing over Steve’s face. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from begging. His throat feels tight, like the pressure of suppressing his pleas is making his throat ache. 

“I’m gonna start begging you if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” Steve says hotly, and Bucky’s pupils dilate further. “Do you want me to beg for you? Do you want me to tell you how much I want you? I want you _so bad_. I need it, baby. Need you inside me. _Fuck_ ,” he moans.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” Bucky groans, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. “God, I wanna make you feel so good.”

Steve moans again, and Bucky presses their lips together again.

Voices outside of the bathroom door suddenly startle him, and Steve jumps slightly, pulling away from Bucky’s lips. Bucky quickly glances towards the door, staggering back, like he’s just as shocked as Steve is. They both look at each other for a second, breathing heavily.

God, they were so caught up in each other that Steve didn’t even realize where they were for a second. Bucky hadn’t even heard the voices outside. They hadn’t even locked the bathroom door. Anyone could have walked in on them. They could have been _caught_. Fuck, what are they even _doing_ right now?

“Shit,” Steve says, his eyes widening as everything starts coming back to him: where they are, why they’re here, and who, exactly, could be listening. “Rumlow could be listening to us.”

Bucky backs away further, his cheeks red. He runs a hand through his long locks, ruffling his hair a little to get it back into how he wants it, and takes a deep breath. He tilts his head to the side, eyes flickering to the doorway, before he looks back at Steve, shaking his head.

“He’s not listening,” Bucky says, a tad harshly even as he works to catch his breath. “You’re still good.”

Steve nods, grabbing the lapels of his jacket to straighten it in a weak attempt to stop himself from reaching out for Bucky. After a moment, he reaches down to readjust himself in his dress pants, inhaling deeply at the slight friction.

“I’m sorry,” he says after another second, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. “I forgot where we were for a second. I forgot. . .” he makes a motion with his hand, “everything.” Not just where they were, but why they’re here, and why Bucky’s been so adamant about keeping their hands to themselves. Along with his embarrassment, Steve actually feels guilty. Bucky’s not in control of himself — he’s barely been able to hold himself back lately — yet here Steve is, telling Bucky how badly he wants him, how desperate he is to feel Bucky’s hands on him, and being a fucking _temptation_ for him when he should be trying to help Bucky figure out why he can’t control his shift. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s so fucking selfish.

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I really do miss you, too, sweetheart. This past week has been awful. I shouldn’t have. . .done a lot of things,” Bucky says, running his hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” Bucky continues. “I didn’t mean to say all of that stuff.” When Steve tenses and inhales sharply, wincing, Bucky immediately backtracks, shaking his hard harshly. “No, _fuck_ ,” he mutters under his breath. “I mean, I _did_ mean to say all of that, just not _here_. I wasn’t prepared for what seeing you and Sharon together would do to me. I shouldn’t have jumped you like that. I meant every word, though, Steve. I just. . .would have liked to have told you all of that in private, and maybe without feeling like I wanted to rip out her throat. But don’t worry about Rumlow hearing us. We’re too far away for an inexperienced werewolf like him to hear us, so we’re safe.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, his cheeks darkening. “Okay,” he says. They’re both quiet for a moment, before he continues, “You know you’re all I think about, too, right? I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. God, Bucky — I just. . .I want you so bad. Constantly. I can’t think about anything else when you’re around me. I want to make you happy, too. I want so many things with you. I — ”

“I know,” Bucky quickly assures him, moving forward to gently kiss Steve’s forehead. “I’m sorry I got jealous. It was. . .hard for me to control myself when I heard what she was saying to you.”

“I thought you were mad,” Steve says, chuckling half-heartedly.

“I was, I think,” Bucky replies. “When she started talking about you like that, like how I see you, I kind of saw red. The only thing that stopped me from charging over to both of you was when you looked at me.” He smiles. “You looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.”

“You are,” Steve says, leaning back to sweep his eyes over Bucky’s suit. “You’re so beautiful. Look at you,” he gapes, swallowing audibly at the sight of Bucky’s long legs in those dark red dress pants. “You’re absolutely stunning, Buck. I mean, your _legs_. . .”

Bucky smiles widely, his cheeks darkening. “I’m glad you like my suit, baby.”

Steve shakes his head, dragging his eyes away from Bucky’s suit to look into his eyes. He smiles, leaning in and giving him a gentle kiss.

“You ready for this?” he asks, all traces of his humor gone as he takes a deep breath.

Bucky’s smile falls, and his stoic expression takes over his face once more. He sighs, then gives a reluctant nod.

“Can you hear alright over the music?”

Bucky nods again. “Yeah. I’m not even sure if Rumlow knows I’m here. He didn’t even look over at me when I got here. He might be too new to be able to sense other wolves.”

“So, you don’t think he knows who you are?”

“He either can’t smell me — which is probably true because I don’t think he’s been a werewolf for long — or he’s doing a damn good job at controlling his senses enough not to react to an Alpha werewolf in his presence, which I think is highly unlikely,” Bucky says. “It takes years to master the ability to hide your own scent, or even hide bodily reactions. His heart should have sped up when he’d sensed me near, and it didn’t. Reacting like that is basically a sign of submission towards Alpha werewolves. A wolf that’s not an Alpha is kind of programmed to show submission as a sign of respect almost involuntarily until they learn to control that response. I don’t think he knows there’s an Alpha here.”

“Okay. That’s good. That’s even better than we’d hoped, right?” Steve asks, giving Bucky a soothing smile.

Bucky just nods. “When you get him alone, though, he might be able to hear me over the music because he won’t be right in the middle of it anymore,” he says, and Steve nods in understanding. “So, be careful. If you don’t feel safe enough, just keep him close to the crowd. I’ll be able to hear you regardless.”

Steve turns around and grabs his mask, moving to tie it back around his head. He can’t wait until this night is over. He’s not even been here an hour and he’s already tired of wearing the flimsy plastic.

“I need to tell you something later,” Bucky says, his brooding expression tense. He grabs his own mask, moving to situate it over his eyes.

“Okay,” Steve says slowly, raising an eyebrow in question. When Bucky doesn’t react or smile at him, he frowns. “Something bad?”

Bucky just continues tying his mask. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you later. It’s not something to worry about right now, though.”

“Okay,” Steve repeats, but then can’t help asking, “but what do you mean that you don’t know if it’s bad or not?”

Bucky glances at him quickly, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that what I need to tell you is _bad_. Just that I don’t really know how you’re going to react to it. Please don’t worry about that right now, baby. I promise nothing is wrong and everything is okay. I just. . .really need to tell you, but I can wait. I don’t want to distract you right now.”

Bucky looks extremely tense and nervous. His brooding frown curls sharply at his mouth, and his stoic eyes look almost black in the dim lighting of the bathroom. Behind his carefully constructed hardened expression, Steve can see that Bucky looks incredibly worried.

Steve nods at him, still frowning, but watches as Bucky adjusts his mask. “I’ve got this, Buck,” he says quietly, crossing his arms and looking into Bucky’s eyes with determination.

“I know you do,” Bucky says quickly, reaching out and palming the back of Steve’s neck softly. He gives Steve a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll understand later when I tell you the thing I need to tell you. It’ll explain why I’m acting this way.”

“Okay,” Steve says cautiously, furrowing his eyebrows.

Bucky pulls him close into his chest, and Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck. He inhales deeply, steadying himself. He needs to focus.

“If you need me at all — ”

“I know, Buck,” Steve says gently.

“Please be safe,” Bucky says into his ear, and Steve smiles against Bucky’s jaw.

“Always am, baby,” he replies.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve says quietly and leans away to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Let’s go get this omega out of your territory.”

Bucky nods timidly, blowing out a puff of air, and grabs Steve’s hand to lead him back towards the bathroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Rumlow alone in the next chapter. . .what could possibly go wrong?
> 
> For your reading experience, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LouX8j4HXUw) is the song that's playing when Steve and Sharon walk into the art gallery, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nR4tBzx8fLk) is the song that plays when Sharon asks Steve to dance, and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_pJb3n2A34) is the song that plays when Sharon begins to flirt with Steve. Also, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1alMvA4xQOY) is the song I listened to for inspiration while writing about Steve and Bucky in the bathroom :)
> 
> EDIT: I completely forgot to show you guys what Steve and Bucky look like in their suits! [Here's](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fa/dc/d4/fadcd41b1d6c046cc7bc4de01a1168b9.jpg) what I imagine Steve looking like at the masquerade, and [here's](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/Ha4370b95966648539deb07fb4fb48f0as/Wine-Red-Burgundy-Wedding-Suits-For-Men-Groom-Best-Man-Party-Prom-Blazer-Slim-Fit-Smart.jpg_640x640.jpgl) Bucky's suit! 
> 
> See you in a couple of days!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I wanted to say a quick thank you to you guys for being so supportive about this story! I am completely floored by the response to the last chapter! All of your comments were amazing to read. I hope you all continue to comment and leave me kudos! I love reading your responses to my chapters! 
> 
> We've got a normal-sized chapter this time. The last chapter was pretty long, and there's a longer one coming up here soon, but here's to part two of the masquerade! I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: This chapter explores themes of derogatory language and mild violence. If you would like a more in depth explanation, please see the end notes. PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THE END NOTES WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS. Also, please be cautious of your own triggers. I want everyone to have a safe and enjoyable reading experience!

_"Fear makes the wolf look bigger than he is.” — German Proverb_

When Steve and Bucky exit the bathroom, Steve’s eyes immediately find Rumlow at the bar across the room. He hasn’t moved at all as he holds his beer and watches the crowd with an almost sultry look. If Steve didn’t know that he was an incredibly dangerous werewolf, he might think that Rumlow looked like just another guest trying to blend in with the partygoers around him as he holds his bottle close to his chest, easily overlooked and unseen even though his presence is the loudest in the room. Steve holds back a scoff at the thought.

He finds Sam looking at them after a moment. He’s standing next to Natasha and Sharon at one of the small standing tables on the opposite side of the Roman exhibit. Natasha’s pressed close to Sam’s side as she chats animatedly with Sharon, who looks more enthusiastic and like herself instead of the belittled girl Steve had spoken to only a short while ago.

Behind his mask, Sam gives him a questioning look, but Steve just tilts his head towards Rumlow’s spot on the bar, and Sam nods once, then turns back to engage the two women at the table in conversation.

He’s the distraction for when Steve’s talking to Rumlow, so he figures now is the time to make his way over to the bar. He looks over at Bucky quickly, who clenches his jaw and darts his serious eyes quickly to the other werewolf, but gives a stiff nod and turns around to disappear into the crowd. Steve glances across the gallery at Pierce, who also hasn’t moved from where he’s talking to the woman in the navy mask, before he makes his way towards the bar.

“A whiskey, neat, please,” he says to the bartender when he leans against the counter next to Rumlow. The bartender nods, turning around quickly and grabbing a glass.

Steve looks over when the bartender moves to grab a bottle of whiskey. Rumlow’s smirking face greets him.

“Captain Rogers,” he says, his tone teasing. He looks like the cat that caught the canary. “I was wondering if I’d see you tonight.”

Steve gives him a nod, reaching forward and grabbing his glass when the bartender sits it in front of him. He doesn’t actually plan on drinking it, but it’ll allow him for something to do with his hands. He doesn’t want to show how nervous he is. “Rumlow,” he says in greeting.

“I don’t seem to remember your invitation,” Rumlow says, smirking. “How did you get in, exactly?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replies, watching the dark liquid slosh around in his glass. “My name was on the guest list.”

“Of course, it was. You’re a little shit, Rogers. I’ll give you that,” Rumlow chuckles. “Salud,” he says, then takes a sip of his beer.

Steve brings the whiskey to his lips, tilting the glass back to look like he’s drinking it. Rumlow watches him over the lip of the beer.

If Steve didn’t know that a werewolf’s enhanced metabolism didn’t allow for them to get intoxicated from alcohol, he’d think that Rumlow was trying to pass himself off as slightly buzzed. His body language is relaxed yet closed off as he leans against the bar, completely content to sit on his stool and eye the crowd. To anyone else who might briefly glance at him, Rumlow looks like just another lackey steadily working his way towards becoming intoxicated. It might have worked on Steve, too, if he hadn’t known for years that alcohol has no affect a werewolf, or if he couldn’t see the calculating glint in Rumlow’s eyes.

“Are you here to arrest my boss?” he asks once Steve sets his whiskey glass back down, his smirk widening. “Because if so, I’m obligated to inform the security working here. It might be fun to watch them kick you out.”

“I’m just here to appreciate the artwork, Rumlow, even if they are twenty-first century knock-offs,” Steve replies.

“You’re such a liar, Cap,” Rumlow scoffs. “You always did have quite the mouth on you.”

Steve clenches his jaw. Rumlow’s trying to knock him off his game, but Steve knows how Rumlow operates. He knows how to get him talking.

“Does that normally work for you?” Steve asks, arching his eyebrow questioningly. “That kind of deflection?”

“Hmm,” Rumlow says indulgently, and predictably, before he grins. “I’m not sure. What exactly do you think I’m deflecting?”

“Don’t try that, Rumlow,” Steve chuckles mockingly. “We both know what kind of beast you’ve got lurking underneath that grin.”

Rumlow’s smile turns feral. “So, you figured out who I was then, huh?”

“Why don’t you and I go and talk somewhere more,” he scans his eyes around the room mockingly, “private?”

Rumlow looks at him cockily before he nods acceptingly, tilting his beer back and downing it. He sets the empty bottle on top of the counter, giving Steve another smirk. He leans in close to Steve’s ear, and Steve unintentionally stiffens when Rumlow in only a few inches away from his ear. Rumlow chuckles slowly. “If you try anything,” he starts, his voice low and threatening, “I’ll kill everyone here, and then I’ll kill _you._ And believe me, I’ve been itching to rip someone’s throat out all night.”

Steve’s blood runs cold, and he quickly glances around the room in slight panic. His eyes automatically find Bucky, where he’s leaning against another alcove off the left side of the bar. Bucky’s already looking at him, his lips curled into a snarl and his eyes so dark they look almost black in the low light of the chandeliers. He starts to move, but Steve shakes his head slightly, and Bucky stops, his face pulled into a menacing scowl.

Rumlow’s never been outright violent, and now he’s issued a direct threat. Steve knows it’s most likely taking all of Bucky’s strength and control to hold himself back right now. If Bucky thinks there’s a chance that Rumlow will act on his threat to hurt Steve, he’s going to lose it and start to wolf out. They’re in public, where _anyone_ could see him. Bucky could potentially expose himself if they don’t get Rumlow to back down, and that _cannot happen._

Steve needs to get Rumlow out of Bucky territory _right fucking now._

He turns back to Rumlow and gives him a grin even though Rumlow can most likely tell he’s panicking, and says slowly, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Rumlow. No one needs to get hurt here.”

Rumlow leans away from him, chuckling sardonically, and pats Steve’s shoulder harshly enough to bruise. Steve tries not to show how much the touch hurts him, just for Bucky’s sake.

Rumlow grabs Steve’s whiskey glass, then gestures for him to lead them to wherever Steve wants for them to talk. Steve glances at Bucky again, whose eyes are watching Rumlow disdainfully, before he pushes himself off of the bar and starts walking around the crowd towards the stairs to the second level.

There aren’t any security guards at the entrance of the stairs, just a flimsy sign on a silver rope that asks guests not to enter, and Steve steps over the rope easily to start climbing them. Rumlow follows behind him, and Steve can feel his eyes at the back of his head, his salacious stare unwavering. Steve tries not to let Rumlow see his discomfort as they reach the top of the stairs, but he knows his heart is racing.

The second level is a stark contrast to the level below it. There aren’t any decorations or framed artworks on the brick walls. There are sheets covering almost everything in the room, and a wall of mirrors lines the backside of the brick when Steve walks past it. All of the remaining artwork not on display downstairs is piled in the corner, and Steve eyes it confusedly. The staff are going to have a great time hanging all of those paintings back up when the benefit downstairs is over.

“You’re nervous,” Rumlow says directly behind him, and Steve startles a little, having not realized Rumlow had gotten that close to him. “I can smell it all over you.”

 _Werewolf_ , he reminds himself as he turns around. _He’ll know if you lie._

“I’m not nervous,” Steve says, despite his heartbeat accelerating. “I just don’t really want to be alone with you.”

“Afraid I’ll do something to you?” Rumlow asks, setting his glass down on a nearby sheet-covered portrait. He reaches behind his head, and his mask falls off of his face a second later. He looks even more dangerous now that his muddy brown eyes are fully bare.

“No,” Steve replies, moving to take his own mask off. “If you’re here with me, you won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

Rumlow laughs harshly, and he takes a step forward, reaching his hand out to grab the whiskey. “That’s bold of you to assume I won’t hurt _you_.”

“You’ve got nothing to gain from doing that,” Steve dismisses even though a cold sweat breaks out against the back of his neck. “That’s not the smartest option.”

“Oh, tell me, Cap, ” Rumlow says, grinning his nasty grin. “What _is_ the smartest option?”

“Leaving this territory,” Steve says, crossing his arms. “Before you end up getting yourself killed.”

Rumlow tips his head back and laughs loudly despite knowing that the remaining guests downstairs are only a few feet away from, and the sound of it chills Steve to the bone.

“Why, exactly, would I leave? I rather like seeing you and your friends squirm.”

“How Machiavellian of you, Rumlow,” Steve says, chuckling to try to shake off his discomfort. “Are you really trying to tell me that you think we’re _scared_ of you?”

Within seconds, Rumlow’s on him, pushing him up against the brick wall with a hand around his throat. Steve’s head smacks hard against the brick, and he can’t help but gasp confoundedly at the sting. He’s so shocked for a second that he doesn’t realize what’s happened. Rumlow snarls at him, and when Steve looks down, his eyes are glowing a bright electric blue. Steve’s so used to seeing Bucky’s Alpha red eyes that he doesn’t recognize that he’s looking at Rumlow’s werewolf eyes for a second.

“If you’re not scared yet,” Rumlow growls, and the lack of practiced ease to it doesn’t compare to Bucky’s at all, but the sound of it still makes his heart plummet in his chest as Rumlow continues, “you _should_ be.”

The hand around his throat tightens, and Steve gasps a little under the strain. It hits him, for the first time, that he’s actually arguing with an _omega werewolf_ , who is _a hundred times stronger than him_.

“Call your guard dog off,” Rumlow snarls as his hand digs into the sides of Steve’s throat. Steve scowls at him, but Rumlow grows menacingly, “ _Call him off._ ”

“I’m fine, Bucky,” Steve says, even though his voice is strained. “I can take it.”

After another moment, Rumlow releases him, and Steve falls to the floor, gasping. Clearly, even though Rumlow might not have known that Bucky was here before, he does now. They’re far enough away from the music and the crowd that Rumlow is able to either sense that an Alpha is close to him, or he can hear Bucky’s heartbeat.

Steve’s blood runs cold again.

“Now, that’s more like it,” Rumlow says, taking another sip of the whiskey Steve hadn’t even seen him put down. He smacks his lips, grinning at Steve as he effortlessly shifts his eyes back to brown. “I’m a tad disappointed, Rogers. I expected more of a fight from you.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, loosening his tie to gulp in more air as he huffs, “you caught me off guard.”

Rumlow laughs at that, a genuine chuckle. “You never did know when to quit, did you?”

“Listen to me,” Steve says, standing up fully as he takes another deep breath. “You need to leave before you end up getting yourself killed.”

 _“Killed?”_ Rumlow repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Your little Alpha hasn’t even accepted my challenge, Rogers. If you’re really trying to convince me you’re not scared of me, you’re not doing a good enough job.”

“What’s there to be scared of, Rumlow?” Steve asks. “Bucky is a lot stronger than you are. He could kill you as easily as blinking.”

Rumlow snarls. “Then why isn’t _he_ here, then? Does he need you to do his bidding? Send in the human to do his dirty work?” He laughs darkly. “Maybe I’ll send you back in pieces for his efforts.”

Steve gulps. “This is his territory. He’ll never give it up to you. Trying to take it from him is not going to work. You have nothing to gain here. Leave while you still can.”

“Maybe I’ll just kill you right here,” Rumlow says, ignoring Steve’s warning. “That might send a better message.”

“You’re not proving how strong you are, Rumlow. You kill me, he kills you. You need to think smarter. Bucky will kill you if he accepts your challenge. No one needs to get hurt. No one needs to _die.”_

“Oh, I think killing you might be _exactly_ what I need to do to win this territory, Cap,” Rumlow says.

Steve’s heart skips a beat.

“I’ve been watching you all,” Rumlow continues, taking a step forward. Steve takes one back. “First, we have Sharon, the coroner. Now, she’s got it bad for you, Cap. If only you could smell her when she gets near you.” He laughs, and Steve scowls at him. “Then we have Natasha, the boss. She’s your friend, even if she is a hardass. Maybe I’ll kill her first,” he grins, and Steve scowls harder. “She looks like she’d be a screamer.” Steve growls at him, stepping forward, but Rumlow side steps him. “Then we have Sam. Now Sam, he’s your best friend, your brother. He’ll be next. He’ll try to be strong at first, but I bet I could get him begging me not to kill him.” Steve lunges for him again, and Rumlow laughs. “Then. . .Bucky,” he says, and Steve’s heart stops beating. “The boyfriend. The Alpha. He’s good to you, isn't he? He’s the one I’d spare. Do you wanna know why?”

Steve glares at him.

“Well, I’ve been watching, right?” Rumlow says, shrugging his shoulders as he swirls the remnants of the whiskey in the glass. “He’s the big bad werewolf with one weakness. You should see how he acts with you. That’s a guy who would do anything for the person he’s in love with. He fucks you good, doesn’t he? Gets you begging for him.” Steve takes another step forward, but Rumlow still evades him, smirking. He taken another sip of the whiskey, then gives Steve a lecherous grin, saying coyly, “You sound so pretty when you’re begging for him to fuck you harder, Cap.”

Steve lunges, and this time, his fist connects with Rumlow’s jaw. Pain immediately erupts down his wrist, and Steve groans harshly. Rumlow doesn’t even flinch as Steve completely recoils, just flashes his eyes again and, so quick Steve doesn’t even see him, brings his hand up to Steve’s throat, digging his fingers in again as he throws the whiskey glass to the floor. The sound of glass braking echoes off of the brick walls.

“I’d spare him,” Rumlow snarls at him, “because killing you would wreck him. It’d be easy to take this territory from an Alpha that can’t even protect his mate.”

Steve doesn’t even think before he responds. He doesn’t even process Rumlow’s words. He can’t breathe, but he can’t let Rumlow do this.

“Leave _now,”_ Steve says roughly as he grabs at Rumlow’s wrist and digs his nails into his tan skin. His right wrist throbs, but he pushes past the pain. “Leave this territory, or you’ll die.”

“You tell your little Alpha that if he doesn’t accept my challenge, I’ll kill everyone you care about, Rogers. Everyone you’ve ever loved, Steve. Their deaths will be on _your_ hands. _I’ll rip them all apart_ ,” Rumlow snarls, backing Steve up against the brick. His eyes are electric blue, and when Steve takes in the rest of him, he sees that Rumlow’s completely wolfed out. His canines are bared threateningly and his wolf face is pulled into a menacing scowl as he holds Steve against the wall.

“Tell him yourself,” a growl sounds next to Steve’s ear, and immediately he’s out of Rumlow’s grip. He falls to the floor as he coughs harshly. He feels himself heave a little as he desperately tries to take in air. He looks towards the wall of mirrors, where Bucky’s got Rumlow pinned underneath his clawed hand, completely wolfed out as his red eyes glow in the reflection.

He looks absolutely _murderous_.

“If you touch him again, I’ll kill you,” Bucky snarls, a low growl in his throat. His mask is off, and Steve sees him bare his teeth threateningly in the reflection of the mirror as he brings his other hand up to pry one of Rumlow’s hands off of his wrist.

For the first time, Rumlow actually looks slightly scared. He’s not wolfed out anymore, although his eyes are still electric blue and his canines are bared. He snaps his mouth towards Bucky, but Bucky growls again, and he cowers.

A split second later, a resounding _snap_ echoes off the brick, and Rumlow howls in pain as he completely slumps against Bucky’s hand on his throat. Bucky lifts him further up the mirror until Rumlow’s feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. Rumlow looks panicked, but he still growls as he refuses to meet Bucky’s eyes — to show submission — and looks at Steve pleadingly.

“Don’t look at him,” Bucky snarls. “If you look at him again, I’ll break your other hand.”

Rumlow snarls, but Bucky tightens his grip on his throat, and Rumlow howls again.

Steve coughs and wheezes, and Bucky’s eyes snap to him in the mirror’s reflection. Steve just looks at him, rubbing at his throat with his good hand. He can’t seem to catch his breath.

“Hey,” a voice sounds, and Steve panickedly glances towards the stairs. Both Bucky and Rumlow growl, but Steve doesn’t see anyone as the voice continues, “Everything okay up here?”

“Bucky,” Steve rasps, clearing his throat. “You’ve got to let him go. Someone’s coming.”

Bucky meets his eyes in the mirror again, and Steve nods at him reassuringly. Bucky growls threateningly as he turns back to Rumlow, leaning in close to Rumlow’s face. “You need to leave this territory tonight,” he says, “or I will accept your challenge, and I will win. If I see you again,” he snarls, “I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

He lets Rumlow go a second later, and Rumlow snarls at him, but disappears almost instantly. Steve has no idea where he goes, but Bucky’s gentle hands are tilting his face up before he can think much about it, and he relaxes into Bucky’s touch, coughing again. Bucky’s still wolfed out, and Steve momentarily panics as whoever is climbing up the steps reaches the top of the stairs.

“Woah, man,” Steve hears, and his eyes flicker to the stairs, where he sees Sam eyeing him panickedly. He doesn’t know how he didn’t recognize Sam’s voice when he’d called up to them. Steve slumps slightly, relieved. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he says, but it comes out raspy and he coughs again. “I’m good,” he repeats.

“I should have ripped him off of you when he’d choked you the first time,” Bucky says, growling. “I’m _so_ sorry.” His hands are still gentle as he tilts Steve’s face to his, assessing him. His face slowly shifts back into his normal brooding scowl, but his eyes are still Alpha red, and he’s breathing heavily.

“I’m okay, Buck,” Steve assures him, sounding less raspy this time. He feels a tear run down his cheek from when Rumlow had choked him, but Bucky wipes it away.

“Holy shit,” Sam says, shaking his head. “He _choked you?_ Jesus.” He runs a hand down his face. “So much for getting him to leave peacefully.”

Bucky growls. “If he doesn’t leave tonight, he knows I’ll come for him. I’ll kill him for what he did to you. I swear to _God_ — ”

“Bucky,” Steve says, standing up fully and pulling Bucky up with him. “I’m alright.” He reaches his good hand up to run his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone, and Bucky makes a noise low in his throat.

Bucky gently grabs his bad wrist, and he carefully watches Steve’s face as he brings it up to look at it. Steve winces at the movements, pain shooting down to his elbow.

“I think it’s broken,” Bucky says softly, his gentle tone a contrast to the scowl marring his face as he turns Steve’s wrist over in front of him. Steve grimaces.

“Broken?” Sam asks, confused. “How’d you break it?”

“I punched Rumlow,” Steve says, wincing when Bucky turns his wrist again. Bucky gives him an apologetic look and slowly leans down to press a gentle kiss to the swollen joint. Steve feels himself blush a little, and he gives Bucky a warm smile.

Sam watches them for a second before he looks at Steve with wide-eyes. “You punched a werewolf?” he asks, and when Steve nods, Sam throws his head back and laughs. “Oh my, God, Steve. I fucking love you, man. Only you would punch a _werewolf._ ”

“He was saying things about Bucky, about all of you,” Steve says, holding his wrist to his chest gingerly. “He was saying it to make me angry, and it clearly worked.”

“I didn’t like what he was saying either,” Bucky growls softly. Steve gives him another reassuring smile.

He turns to Sam, raising an eyebrow. “How’d you know to come up here?”

“I didn’t, actually,” Sam says, shrugging. “Natasha sent me to find you. Sharon’s got the check.”

“What? Already?” Steve asks. “Wasn’t Pierce supposed to make a speech or something before that happened?”

“He did,” Sam tells him. “You’ve been gone for a bit, dude. Sharon just got it, though. She was looking for you, but she ended up just going up by herself and making some bullshit excuse about the art charity’s finances. They gave it to her without a fuss.”

“Shit,” Steve curses. “I was supposed to be with her.” He sighs. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Before Pierce realizes we’re trying to break into his finances.”

“You need to go to a hospital,” Bucky says, and when Steve looks down, Bucky’s hands on his arm are oily black. Steve feels that relieved sensation wash over him, and he slumps a little. He doesn’t move his wrist, and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Buck, I have to take Sharon to the precinct,” he says.

“You are not _driving_ with a _broken wrist_ ,” Bucky says sharply, his scowl deepening.

Steve sighs again. “I can drive with my other hand, baby. I promise that as soon as I take her back to the precinct, I’ll drive home and I’ll let you take me to the hospital. I’m probably going to need a brace or something.”

“Steve,” Bucky says sternly, in that same tone he uses when he’s not willing to negotiate. Steve shouldn’t expect anything less.

“Bucky,” Steve parrots back, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky replies, biting out the words harshly. His other hand is clenched into a fist at his side, and his breathing is still rough and ragged. “I let you get hurt, and — ”

“Bucky, no,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I told you I could take it. And I did. _I’m_ the one that punched _him_ , Buck. I promise that I’m okay, baby. I’ll be quick when I drive her back. I won’t even fight you about driving me to the hospital.”

Bucky growls lowly in his throat, but he sighs a moment later. “If you aren’t home in half an hour — ” he starts, and Steve grins.

“I will be,” he promises, leaning forward and giving Bucky a gentle kiss. “This isn’t your fault, Buck. I’m okay.”

Bucky exhales another ragged breath, pressing another short kiss to Steve’s lips, before he sighs under his breath again, pulling back. His eyes are no longer red, but his gray irises watch Steve carefully, like he’s afraid Steve might fall over if he lets him go.

“ _Way_ too lovey,” he hears Sam mutter, but Steve just flips him off with his good hand, and Sam chuckles. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Half an hour,” he says to Bucky, and Bucky clenches his jaw but nods reluctantly before he lets go of Steve completely. Steve gives him a private smile, then turns towards Sam. He feels Bucky’s eyes trail after them as they walk down the stairs. Bucky will probably slip out of the same window he’d come through earlier. If his bike’s around, he’ll need to take it home before he drives Steve to the hospital.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Sam tells him as they tumble back into the crowd.

Steve cradles his bad arm to his chest, saying softly, “I’m alright. It was my fault anyway.”

“I thought about chasing after you when you disappeared with Bucky, but Bucky looked homicidal, man. I thought he was going to. . .you know,” Sam says, motioning with his head in a way Steve can only assume means _I thought he was going to wolf out._ “He saw you and Sharon together and just. . .”

“I know,” Steve says, sighing. “He heard everything she was saying, too.”

Sam grimaces. “Not good?”

Steve shakes his head, and Sam gives him a small smile as he brings his hand up to give Steve a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Well, I’m pretty sure no one saw me sneak Bucky in. Natasha thinks that you were outside getting some air,” Sam says quietly as Steve spots both Natasha and Sharon at the back of the Roman exhibit, “and that you lost track of time and didn’t realize the speech was over. And since you’ve now got a broken wrist, let's agree that you accidentally fell outside because you’re a clumsy fuck.”

Steve laughs at that, before he nods to Sam, then turns towards the two women at the table.

“Hey. Where’s your mask?” Natasha greets him when he’s close enough that she doesn’t need to shout, her red lips pulled down in a frown.

Steve stares at her for a second, confused. He’d forgotten he’d taken it off while talking with Rumlow. He hadn’t grabbed it before he’d left.

“I lost it,” he says smoothly, shrugging. “I took it off outside when I was getting some air, and I forgot where I put it.” He turns to Sharon. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you got the check.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” she says, giving him a hesitant smile. “The speech happened sooner than we thought it was going to.”

“Still,” Steve insists, shrugging again. “I promised you I’d be there, and I wasn’t. That’s not very professional of me.”

“This night hasn’t really been _professional_ ,” Sam interjects, glancing at Natasha quickly before giving him a pat on the back. Steve nods, and Natasha gives Sam a curt look. “We got what we came here to get. That’s what matters.”

“What did you do to your wrist?” Natasha asks after a moment, frowning at the way he’s holding it.

Steve glances down at his hand, fighting another grimace. It’s swollen and red now, and even though it doesn’t hurt, he can feel the way it throbs.

“I accidentally fell when I was outside,” he tells her, giving her a fake wince. “I think I sprained it.”

“You need to get that checked out,” she tells him sternly, and he nods at her.

“I’m going to head to the hospital after I drop Sharon off at the precinct,” Steve says, giving her a small smile.

“Should you really be driving like that?” Natasha asks him, her voice a tad shrill as she narrows her eyes at him. “I can call Bucky to come pick you up. Sam and I can drive her, Steve. Your wrist doesn’t look so good.”

“I could also just get an Uber or something, Steve,” Sharon cuts in, giving him a hesitant look. “That looks more like a break than a sprain.”

“I’m alright,” he tells them. “I promise. It looks worse than it is.” He feels himself bite the inside of his cheek at the lie, trying not to look too sheepish. He doesn’t want them to catch him in yet another lie.

Thankfully, Natasha gives him a reluctant look but then nods acceptingly, and Sharon just smiles, so he gives them both another soothing grin.

“As long as you’re sure,” Natasha says hesitantly, but when he nods again, she grabs her clutch. “Let’s get out of here before this night gets any worse.”

Steve chuckles at her, but Sam gives her a wary look. He watches her carefully, almost tentatively, like he’s scared she's mad at him. Steve gives him a questioning look, but Sam just shrugs.

They all walk quickly towards the exit, and no one stops them as they make their way out of the doors. Sam and Natasha split off almost immediately to Sam’s Charger when they all reach the parking lot, and he and Sharon walk amicably to the Camaro after saying their goodbyes.

It’s awkward when they both get into the car. Steve’s bad arm makes it uncomfortable for a second as he clumsily starts the ignition and has to try twice to move the gear shift into drive. Sharon just waits for him to patiently get everything in order, then carefully watches him maneuver the car out of the parking lot.

Realistically, he knows he really shouldn’t be driving. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them that they needed to get themselves checked out before driving, but he’s determined to finish this night with some good news.

He doesn’t know if Rumlow’s actually going to leave like they’re all hoping he will. Bucky may end up doing the one thing they were hoping to avoid. If anything, he can at least take solace in knowing that he most likely won’t see Rumlow again. If he doesn’t leave tonight, Bucky will probably kill him the next time he sees him. Either way, their omega problem could quite possibly be over, even if the thought of Bucky killing someone makes his throat tight. He knows how serious it is to take someone’s life. He doesn’t ever want Bucky to know what the weight of that burden feels like. 

Steve’s also probably not going to get away with leaving Bucky’s side for a while after what had happened with Rumlow tonight. Not that he wants to. It’s just, honestly, he knows that Bucky’s probably spiraling right now. It’s so close to the full moon, and he’d barely stopped himself from ripping Rumlow apart, and it was only because Steve had been able to somewhat talk him down. Steve will be lucky if Bucky doesn’t beg him not to go to work in the next couple of days. Steve doesn’t think he’d have it in him to say no.

“Do you think Sam and Natasha are dating?” Sharon asks suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts, and Steve glances at her briefly, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I. . .don’t think so,” he replies, frowning. “He would have told me. Why do you think that?”

“They were acting very coupley tonight,” Sharon says, shrugging. “You should have seen how they were dancing together. When they were dancing, it was like. . .” she trails off, seemingly trying to find her words. “He was looking at her like she was the only one in the room. And she looked at him with the biggest grin on her face I think I’ve ever seen her make.”

Steve feels his eyebrows raise at that. He hadn’t ever really noticed any sort of budding romance between them. Sam and Natasha have always been friendly with each other. Now that he’s thinking about it though, maybe that friendliness _was_ something more. Sam was at Natasha’s house when Steve had called him that night he and Bucky had gotten into that stupid fight when Bucky had shifted on him. Steve’s never been to Natasha’s house before, and he’s known her for nearly five years. The night of the truck stop shooting, Sharon had said that Natasha was trying to get a hold of Sam. That was the same night that Steve had called him out for his ringtone, where he’d assumed that Sam was seeing someone and keeping it from him. And they’d both seemed overly content to go undercover to the masquerade together. They hadn’t even mentioned switching the couples around so that Steve would go with Natasha instead of Sharon.

And the way they were both acting tonight. . .maybe they _are_ dating. Natasha hadn't even blinked when Sam had touched her, when he’d pulled her in close to his chest. Steve has to admit that, from what he’d seen from them, they did seem very comfortable with each other.

 _You’d be the only one to support us_ , Sam had told him barely a week ago. _At least for the time being._ No wonder Sam had said that to him. If word got out that he was dating their boss, he’d never be seen the same again. Every detective at the precinct would always call Natasha’s judgement into question when it came to Sam. They’d all think that the cases he and Steve would be assigned to would be a result of Natasha’s blatant bias towards Sam rather than he and Steve’s abilities to solve them. Their relationship would always be judged.

“You. . .” Steve starts, clearing his throat. “You might be right. But it’s really none of our business. All we can do is show them that we support them.”

“Right, yeah,” Sharon says hastily. “You’re right.”

It’s quiet for another few minutes, before he clears his throat again, and she snaps her eyes towards him.

“I want to apologize for how tonight went,” Steve says earnestly. “I really did want to be with you to help you with the check. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.”

“Seriously, Steve, don’t worry about that. I didn’t even need you, honestly,” she says. “I should actually be the one apologizing to you. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable and said all of that stuff. It was. . .highly inappropriate,” she settles on, and before he can glance at her, a car behind them honks obnoxiously, and he presses on the gas pedal harder. He didn’t think he was really going that slow.

“You did make me uncomfortable,” Steve tells her, glancing at her out of his periphery. “And your actions tonight we’re very inappropriate and unprofessional. I really do consider you a friend, Sharon, and I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that our relationship was anything more than that.”

“I know,” Sharon says, nodding. The car behind them speeds up, so Steve switches lanes to let them pass, mildly annoyed. He’s not really in the mood to pull anyone over, so he slows to allow the car to pass, but the car follows him into the right lane. Steve frowns. Sharon, oblivious to Steve’s irritation, continues next to him, “I read too much into a lot of our interactions. I saw you tonight and I just thought _it’s now or never,_ I guess.”

“I don’t want to make you feel awkward or anything,” Steve says, “but I do think it was rude that you acted on that, especially when you know that I’m already in a relationship.”

“I’m sorry for that, too,” Sharon replies, and Steve sees her rub the back of her neck bashfully out of the corner of his eye. “That wasn’t my intention, and, again, I’m sorry that I made you feel uncomfortable.”

The car behind them honks again, and Steve glances out of the rearview mirror in annoyance. It’s a black SUV behind them, but Steve can’t make out the driver or the license plate. The car’s directly behind him. It’s so close he could look into the windshield if he didn’t have to keep his eyes on the road.

He switches lanes again. The SUV follows.

“This car is crazy,” he mutters underneath his breath, shaking his head before he glances back at Sharon. “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward or anything.”

“God, Steve,” Sharon laughs slightly. “Now is not the time for you to be so polite. My intentions were all over the place tonight, and I deeply regret a lot of what I did and said tonight. I hope we can move past it, but I understand if you only want to keep our interactions strictly professional from now on. It’s going to take me some time to get over you.”

“We’re friends,” Steve says resolutely, offering her a tentative grin. “As long as you don’t flirt with me again, we’re alright, Sharon. There’s nothing left to discuss about it.”

Sharon gives him a wide smile. “You’re too nice for your own good, Steve.” She laughs, but her tone turns soft as she says, “Bucky’s a lucky guy.”

Steve gives her a questioning look, glancing out of the rearview again, where the SUV is still following them. He turns left down a through street, and the SUV follows right after him.

“I just mean,” Sharon clarifies, “that Bucky’s incredibly lucky to have someone like you.”

“We’re both lucky to be with each other,” Steve replies, watching the SUV in his side mirror.

“You must really love him,” Sharon says, tone light if a little contemplative.

“Very much,” Steve agrees with her.

She grins. “Exactly. He’s a lucky guy. I hope to find someone I can look that happy about.”

Steve feels himself begin to blush, and he shakes his head slightly. “Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Sharon.”

“Except you,” Sharon giggles.

“Except me,” Steve agrees, chuckling.

The SUV squeals their tires, and Steve looks up sharply to the rearview mirror. The SUV remains only a few inches behind them, and Steve huffs as he turns onto Classon Ave., irritated. If this guy realizes that he’s following them to a police station, he might back off.

“Wrong plumbing?” Sharon asks teasingly, laughing.

Steve chuckles despite his irritation, a tad surprised at her joke as he shakes his head again. “Something like that,” he says.

The SUV continues to follow them. Steve glances behind them to try to see who the driver is, and he turns back in annoyance when he swerves the wheel slightly because he’s only got his left hand on the wheel. The SUV speeds up even more, and Steve jolts when the front of the car nips at the Camaro’s bumper. He bristles, turning around angrily.

“Jesus, what is with this guy?”

“Did he just rear end you?” Sharon says, turning around and looking at the SUV. Steve turns toward the road again, fuming. His bad hand throbs, but he places it on the wheel, needing to steady the Camaro’s wheels.

The SUV’s tires squeal again, and Steve feels his chest collide with the steering wheel as the SUV rear ends him a second time.

“He’s going to run you off the road, Steve!” Sharon yells, and Steve slams on the brakes, trying desperately to get the Camaro to stop. The SUV slams into them a third time, pushing them forward, and then, suddenly, the Camaro veers off to the side and smashes directly into the light pole at the edge of the precinct parking lot.

Everything seems to go black for a split second.

The first thing Steve’s conscious of is the taste of blood in his mouth, sharp and metallic on his tongue. He feels pressure on his lungs, and the shallow breath he takes in is wet and harsh in his throat. He coughs, and the airbag in front of him spews red at the blood that settles on it.

His vision is blurry, and Steve thinks that maybe there isn’t enough oxygen getting to his brain. His eyes are burning, and when he blinks, tears run down his cheeks, but he doesn’t think he’s crying.

His right arm is on fire. Pain stabs through his head and his entire right side. He feels like he can’t move his limbs.

The second thing he becomes aware of is screaming. He turns, and Sharon meets his gaze with wide eyes. She’s got blood soaking her hair, and a deep cut runs from her eyebrow to her hairline. She’s looking at him with tears in her eyes.

There’s not enough light for him to see the rest of the street, but Steve blinks and blinks anyway, trying to clear his vision. He belatedly realizes that there’s smoke clouding his vision, but he dimly sees the SUV in front of them. Its brake lights are bright, and Steve feels like he needs to squint when he looks at them.

He’s so dizzy. His stomach rolls, and all he hears for another second is his heart beating in his ears.

Panic races through him suddenly, and he immediately opens his eyes widely. Adrenaline spikes through his veins as he takes in the scene in front of him. His car is wrapped around a light pole. His _car_ is wrapped around a _light pole_.

They weren’t like this a few minutes ago.

Steve tries to move his arms, but nothing is responding the way it should. Pain lances through his body, and a gurgled sob sounds over the blood rushing in his ears, but he doesn’t remember making a sound. His head is _pounding_.

“Sharon?” he asks after a moment, and his voice doesn’t sound good as his throat burns.

“Steve?” Sharon says a second later, and she sounds much calmer than he is, even though he can see that she’s beginning to panic.

“Are you okay?” he asks, beginning to fumble with his seatbelt. His entire body aches with his movements, but he can’t get it unbuckled. His hands are clumsy and unsteady, and he pulls on the belt, but it doesn’t give way. He can’t make himself pull anymore.

“Yeah,” Sharon replies to him even as she gasps in pain. She looks at him again, and her eyes are wild as she starts to pant. Steve swallows. He knows the signs of shock when he sees them.

“We’re okay,” he tells her, but his eyes look back towards the SUV, which hasn’t moved on the street in front of them. There aren’t any other lights around them, and Steve doesn’t see any pedestrians on the sidewalks. The precinct is empty, and at the very back of Steve's mind, he remembers that Natasha sent everyone home early because of the ball. The ball that they were at less than fifteen minutes ago.

“Are you — are you hurt?” he hears Sharon ask him.

“I’m not sure,” Steve replies, but doesn’t take his eyes off of the SUV. “I — I don’t know. I can’t really feel anything.”

He feels himself begin to cough, and his vision blacks out for a second from the searing pain in his chest. He tries to watch the SUV behind the spots in his vision, and he can feel something niggling at the back of his head, like maybe he should just give up and sleep for a while. He feels so _tired._

He snaps his eyes open, and when he does, hot, salty tears stream down his face, but he can’t move to wipe them away.

There’s glass everywhere. His windshield is completely shattered when he focuses his eyes enough to look above the airbag. His car is totaled. He’s incredibly fucking pissed.

He looks back towards the SUV, watching when the driver’s side door opens. Someone walks toward the back and Steve strains to see who it is. The part of him that always sees the best in people thinks that maybe this guy will help them, that maybe he didn’t mean to cause this accident. He and Sharon both probably need medical attention. Steve still can’t move his body.

The guy in the SUV leans against the back bumper, and Steve focuses his blurry vision to look at him. He mumbles, “Hey,” to try to get the guy’s attention, and the guy’s head snaps to him, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

He shouldn’t be surprised when he sees Rumlow leaning against the SUV and giving him a salacious grin and a mocking wave with the hand that Bucky didn’t break, but Steve’s entire body runs cold when Rumlow’s electric blue eyes flash menacingly in the dimly lit street.

“Sharon,” Steve says, as quietly as he can. “The license plate of this SUV is 2-2-1-November-Kilo-Omega. You got that? You’re going to need to tell Sam that when he gets here.”

“What are you talking about?” Sharon says, and her voice is airy, like she can’t focus. Steve realizes a second too late that she sounds incredibly muffled in his ears, and he knows that’s not a good sign.

“Hey,” Steve snaps at her harshly, and her eyes meet his. “Listen to me. You need to call Sam as soon as you get out of this car. Tell him the license plate on the SUV that hit us is 2-2-1-November-Kilo-Omega. Those words exactly. You got that?”

Sharon nods at him, and Steve watches as Rumlow begins walking towards them.

“He doesn’t want you, okay?” he mumbles quietly, praying to whoever may be listening that Rumlow can’t hear them. He’s not very hopeful, regardless. “He doesn’t want you. Don’t say anything when he gets here. Don’t move.”

“Steve, what are you talking about? What’s going on?” Sharon asks, sounding so far away now. He starts to hear static in his ears and Steve can only slightly hear the panic in her voice as she strains to see where he’d been looking, and winces when she cries out from the pain.

“Stop that,” Steve says harshly again, and Sharon lets out a sob. “Don’t make a sound. Stay alert, but _do not_ draw attention to yourself. _Focus.”_

She nods at him as a tear slips down her eye, but she turns away from his side of the car and doesn’t say anything else.

Steve looks out the window again, and startles slightly when Rumlow’s smirking face greets him.

“Hey, Cap,” Rumlow says easily, his wolfish grin widening as he takes in Steve’s Camaro. “Who taught you how to drive, huh?”

He leans forward, and Steve holds his breath when one of Rumlow's claws runs down his cheek to caress his face. Rumlow chuckles at him, then reaches down and shreds the seatbelt keeping Steve stationary in one easy flick of his wrist.

“Don’t worry, Cap,” Rumlow says, his voice so quiet over the static in Steve’s ears, and when he grins again, he flashes his electric blue eyes and bares his canines tauntingly. Steve’s eyes feel heavy, and Rumlow’s voice starts to fade away as he continues, “I’ll have you out of here in no time, Steve.”

And then everything turns black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers from warning: A character is addressed in a derogatory way and spoken to in a derogatory way, such as indicating sexual and conspiratorial acts. A character is choked twice, injured during an altercation, and is involved in a car accident that goes into mild detail, including describing the pain associated with the accident and how the accident happens. If you find these topics to be a trigger, please read with caution.
> 
> Another cliffhanger, huh?
> 
> We've got some drama coming up! Poor Steve just couldn't catch a break in this chapter! 
> 
> For your reading enjoyment, I listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8) while writing the car accident scene. 
> 
> See you all in a few days!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know the last chapter was a tad short, but I promise there is some good stuff coming up in these next few updates. I just wanted to say a huge thank you to you guys for being so supportive! Thank you to all of my regular and new commenters, everyone who gives me kudos, and all of you who read this huge story! 
> 
> This work continues to be unbeta'd, so I am so sorry if there are error! We've got some drama in this chapter! I hope you all enjoy reading these next few updates. I am so excited to post them! 
> 
> Also, note the updated chapter count. I guess I just had a lot more to say before I end this monster sized story ;)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Please heed the tags. There is a scene in this chapter that details a panic attack. The scene goes in depth with its description of that panic attack. There are also mentions of violence and descriptions of that violence. Please read with caution if you find these topics to be a trigger.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“And if you’ve never felt your soul being torn apart, you’ve never loved anyone with all of your heart.” — Reginaldo Kilas_

“I’m sorry, the number you are calling is not available at this time — ”

Bucky pulls his phone down to his eye level, giving it a confused look as he presses the ‘end call’ button. He huffs in displeasure as he tosses the phone onto the bathroom counter.

It’s not really that unusual for Steve not to answer Bucky’s calls, especially when he’s working, but he’s not technically supposed to be working anymore. Bucky will normally call him once, wait a few minutes before he texts him to see if he’s busy, and waits for Steve to get back to him. Steve always responds to him within a reasonable amount of time, but this is the third time that Steve hasn’t answered. He should have been home fifteen minutes ago. Bucky doesn’t ever remember a time where he didn’t hear Steve’s normal voicemail when he called, too. He’s never gotten a message that Steve’s phone wasn’t _available_.

Bucky frowns and grabs his sweatshorts and tugs them on. Maybe Steve’s phone is dead. He forgets to charge it sometimes. Bucky’s always reminding him to put his phone on the charger before they go to bed. For as many calls as Steve gets when he’s working, he needs to make sure that his phone has enough battery to last him throughout the day.

Regardless, Bucky can’t help but feel slightly impatient as he eyes his phone. Steve needs to get his wrist checked out. It’s bad enough that Bucky didn’t put a stop to Rumlow’s threats before Steve got hurt. Steve’s got to be hurting right now. He’s been away from Bucky for forty-five minutes, and Bucky hasn’t been able to keep taking his pain away. Surely the pain of his broken wrist has most definitely become almost unbearable by now. The thought makes Bucky’s heart clench.

The sound of a car door closing on their street has his eyes drawing towards the door, but as he continues to listen, all he hears is a heartbeat of a man he’s never met before enter their building and walk up the stairs to his apartment on the second floor. Bucky huffs again.

The sound of his phone ringing has him looking back at the counter sharply, and he picks it up quickly. He feels himself sigh when he realizes that it’s not Steve that’s calling him, but he presses the green button quickly and brings the phone up to his ear.

“Bucky,” Sam’s voice echoes through his ear before Bucky can even get a word out. Bucky pulls the t-shirt he’d picked out from their closet up and off of the bathroom counter, shaking his wet hair as he quickly pulls it on and brings the phone back up to his ear, frowning.

The distinct sound of police sirens sounds over Sam’s voice, and Bucky’s frown increases. He didn’t think that Sam would be called to a scene after what they’d all just done at the masquerade.

“Sam,” Bucky says gruffly, confused. “You okay?”

“Where are you?”

Bucky picks up his towel and turns the bathroom light off as he walks out back into their bedroom. He huffs once more. “Home,” he says into the phone, throwing the towel into he and Steve’s laundry hamper. A sliver of worry begins to coil in his abdomen. “Waiting for Steve. You heard from him?”

“Bucky, you need to get to the precinct immediately,” Sam says quickly, his voice slightly cracking as Bucky’s entire body freezes. He feels his throat tighten when he hears the panic in Sam’s voice. The sirens around Sam seem to fade as the sound of Sam’s panicked heartbeat floods Bucky’s ears. Something’s definitely wrong.

“Why? What happened?” he says tightly, biting back a growl. He doesn’t like the way Sam hesitates.

“There’s been an accident,” Sam says slowly, but Bucky can hear the way his heart blips. Sam’s voice is thick, filled with emotion. It makes Bucky scowl as the worry in his abdomen coils sharply. He can feel his eyes beginning to shift. He breathes roughly through his nostrils, panic beginning to seize his chest.

“What _happened,_ Sam?” Bucky repeats harshly, and this time, he can’t hold back his growl.

“You need to get here, _now_ ,” Sam says, and the way his voice falters has Bucky’s heart plummeting in his chest.

 _“Sam,”_ he snarls as he feels his claws elongate.

“It’s Steve, Bucky,” Sam says, and he clears his throat wetly before inhaling shakily. “Something’s happened to Steve.”

—

_“Captain Rogers!” A soldier to his left screams, and Steve barely has time to look up before a round of bullets pierce through the kid’s tac gear. He falls to the ground before Steve can open his mouth._

_“We’re getting shit on, Rogers!” Dugan yells over the rapid gunfire, and when Steve looks over at him, the sight of blood is almost too much for him to process what he’s supposed to be seeing. Dugan’s leg is completely torn open from the calf down. Steve can see his bone protruding out from his flesh beneath his torn and soiled fatigues._

_There’s a helicopter nearby; Steve can hear the blades over the sounds of an explosion far off into the distance. Glass rains down on them, and Steve brings his hand up quickly to shield his eyes. He yells, “Everybody down!” before the entire roof collapses down on top of them._

_Everything has gone to absolute_ shit _._

_“They’re really close now!” Someone screams over the high-pitched ringing in Steve’s ears. He can’t tell if it’s Jones or Morita from where he’s crouched against the wall._

_“Get out of here!” Steve yells back, and when he moves again, he realizes that he can’t feel his legs. A quick glance down his body tells him that the concrete of the roof has half of his body pinned to the ground. He can’t lift it up._

_“We’re not leaving you, Rogers!” Dugan says, and another bullet grazes up against his ear, and he yells in pain, clutching at the side of his head in agony._

_They won’t make it out of this alive if he doesn’t get everyone out_ right the fuck now _._

 _“I’m pinned down. I’m not getting out of here. All of you need to get your asses on that helicopter before you’re all blown to dust,” Steve says at the same time another kid soldier is shot directly in the head. “I mean it! Everybody get the_ fuck _out of here!”_

_“We’re not leaving you,” another voice reaches him, and more glass rains down onto his hair. He’s not wearing his protective headgear anymore, but he’s not sure where it went. The high-pitched ringing in his ears increases._

_“If we don’t get the fuck out of here right fucking now, we’re all going to die,” Someone says, but Steve’s stopped caring who’s talking to him anymore. The kid yells, “Fuck,_ I don’t want to die! _” as four bullets rip through his skull._

 _“Get the fuck out_ right now _,” Steve says, leaving no room for argument. He pushes on the concrete on top of him again, but it doesn’t move. “I can’t get this off of me. There’s no way I’m getting out of here. You all need to save yourselves!” he yells, groaning under the weight of the concrete. “You’re going to have to leave!_ Get the fuck out! _”_

_“Steve — ”_

_“That’s an_ order _!” Steve screams as more bullets pound against the back of the room. “Stand down!”_

 _“We’re coming back, Captain,” Jones says as he crawls across the broken glass and the remnants of the concrete ceiling. When he lifts his arms up to give Steve a salute, both of his forearms are shredded. “We’ll get you out of here! We won’t leave you behind!”_

_Suddenly, everything shifts. The concrete slab pressing down onto his chest abruptly disappears and slams against the opposite wall, and air floods into Steve’s lungs. Steve coughs wretchedly as he looks around the room quickly, but there isn’t any debris or bullet shells. All of the walls are intact. He doesn’t see any of his team anywhere in the building._

_“Hey, Cap,” a figure above him says, and Steve looks up quickly into glowing electric blue eyes._

_“Rumlow?” Steve asks, confused as he pants. “What — What are you doing here?”_

_His entire body seizes up in fear when Rumlow grins menacingly, and the sound of an explosion near his ear has him groaning in pain._

_“I told you I’d kill you,” Rumlow chuckles at him, and suddenly, he’s grabbing Steve’s throat and slamming his head into the concrete floor._

_Pain erupts down his spine, and Steve gasps panickedly when Rumlow squeezes his throat tighter. Claws nip his flesh roughly, and the next breath he takes is harsh and wet from the blood seeping into his esophagus._

_The ceiling above him pushes down, closing down on top of him as he writhes under Rumlow’s grip. The large, blunt claws against his throat are so hot from his blood he can feel the heat rippling off of them as Rumlow pushes him harder into the ground._

_The claws grip him tighter. Closer and closer to making a complete fist. There isn’t anyone who can save him from this horrible pain._

_God, the pain. It’s excruciating. He thrashes, struggling against the claws at his neck. They dig into his throat harder._

It’s going to hurt _, a voice in the back of his head says._ It’s going to hurt and be slow, and you’ll cry.

 _A sickening_ crunch _echoes in his ears, and his vision goes dark._

—

Steve’s limbs flail as he shoots upright, and he thrashes as he coughs. He tries to bring both of his hands up to run his hands through his hair, but they don’t budge from behind his back. He pulls again, and pain lances through both of his arms. He’s retrained.

Lifting his head up hurts and a deep breath has him coughing again. Blood slides down the corner of his mouth when he finally takes a deep breath, and he blinks blearily as he pulls against his restraints again. His hands don’t move.

His throat is raw, his mouth is full of ash and something that tastes like metal, and his face is soaked and sticky. His entire body aches.

“Oh, good,” Rumlow’s voice sounds somewhere in the room, but Steve can’t see anything. Everything is dark. He whips his head around, but everywhere he tries to look, darkness greets him. There isn’t any light anywhere. “You’re finally awake.”

“Where am I?” Steve asks, fighting a wave of nausea as he bites the words out. His stomach rolls, and he coughs and dry heaves.

“Ask me an important question,” Rumlow says somewhere in front of Steve, or maybe off to his left. Steve can’t focus enough to try to find him in the dark. His head is pounding.

Steve ignores him. He tries to take another deep breath to calm himself down. He can feel the panic racing through his veins as he thrashes again. His lungs constrict in his chest, and his entire body recoils harshly when he pulls at his hands. Everything hurts.

If he doesn’t calm himself down, he’s going to start panicking. He knows how these things go. He needs to relax enough to focus.

“I can’t breathe,” Steve says harshly into the darkness, and he feels his breaths start coming faster. Every slight pull on his chest has him seizing up uncomfortably.

“Relax,” Rumlow says, and a second later, light overtakes the room, and Steve closes his eyes from the harshness of it. He squints, and when he fully focuses his vision after a few more seconds, Rumlow’s smirking face greets him. He’s still wearing his suit from the masquerade, his tie slung over his shoulder.

Steve looks around the room quickly. He needs to remember this information.

They might be in a warehouse of some sort, but there aren’t any windows for him to look out of to try to identify his surroundings. All he sees is open space and concrete when he looks around again. The lights above them are paneled into the ceiling, but they aren’t very bright when he glances at them.

A chill runs down his spine, and Steve feels his body begin to shiver. Wherever they are is extremely cold. He doesn’t think he’s in a freezer, though. The room he and Rumlow are in is way too spacious. They’re definitely in a warehouse.

“You humans are so trivial,” Rumlow says, and Steve draws his attention back to the werewolf blearily. “Dreaming about your old war days, Cap? For someone who says they don’t like revisiting the past, you sure as hell are quick to project it, aren’t you?”

“What?” Steve asks him. Rumlow’s words sound muffled, but when Steve looks at him again, Rumlow’s still standing where he was when the lights turned on. They’re both settled in the middle of the room, but Steve can’t look behind himself from where ropes are keeping him restrained to, what looks like, a metal chair.

“Jesus, have you learned nothing from that Alpha of yours?” Rumlow laughs sardonically. Steve scowls at him. “ _Projecting_. You practically forced me into that dream with you. I decided I needed to. . .spice things up a little bit.”

Steve doesn’t dream about his time in Afghanistan often. The dream he’s just woken up from, however, wasn’t like the usual nightmares he normally has. He dreamt that Rumlow had killed him. And Rumlow is the one who made him dream that.

Steve didn’t even know werewolves could _do_ that.

“Stay out of my head,” Steve snaps at him, thrashing against his restraints again. More pain erupts over his chest.

“That’s hard to do when you leave your mind open for anyone to walk into,” Rumlow replies, his smirk widening.

Rumlow is clearly a lot more knowledgeable than Steve had given him credit for. He didn’t know that werewolves could invade his thoughts like that. God, has Bucky ever done that to him before?

Bucky.

_Fuck._

Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

“What did you do?” Steve asks harshly, thrashing again. Everything floods his mind again. The ball. Bucky threatening to kill Rumlow the next time he saw him. His broken wrist. His totaled Camaro. “You ran me off the road!”

“You’re not _that_ surprised, are you?” Rumlow asks, crossing his arms and chuckling. “You know me better than that, Rogers. I was threatened. And I didn’t have enough time to come up with a better plan.”

 _I’ve been watching you all,_ Rumlow had said at the ball. If he’d been watching them, he’d known what kind of car Steve had driven. He’d know that Steve was supposed to drive Sharon to the precinct right after the ball. He might have even heard it when they were all still talking at the masquerade. Steve didn’t know where Rumlow had disappeared to after Bucky had threatened him, but he shouldn’t have assumed that Rumlow had actually _left_. God, it’d practically been effortless for him to get Steve alone. He’d known when the best opportunity was.

And, shit. Sharon. She’d been freaking out. She’s most likely received medical attention by now. Maybe she’s even already called Sam like Steve had told her to. Someone’s bound to know what happened to them. Someone knows that he’s missing.

Bucky’s going to be _livid._

“What’s your big plan now then, Rumlow?” Steve asks, scowling even as his heart races. “You’ve kidnapped a police detective. The whole precinct’s going to be looking for you.”

“I don’t care about the cops,” Rumlow chuckles. “I’ll kill anyone who comes near this place. Don’t condescend to me.”

“You should have run when you had the chance, Rumlow,” Steve bites out, smirking. “My team knows that I’m missing, and they’ll find you. Better yet, Bucky knows my scent. He’ll come for me. And when he does,” Steve’s smirk widens, “he’ll rip you apart.”

“Oh, believe me,” Rumlow grins wickedly, his voice like ice in Steve’s veins, and Steve’s smirk falters. “I’m counting on it.”

—

Steve doesn’t see Rumlow for the next couple of hours. After he gives Steve one last menacing chuckle, he disappears behind a heavy metal door, and Steve blinks as he practically vanishes right in front of his eyes. He shakes his head afterwards, tugging at his restraints again. His right wrist throbs and aches, and his head pounds as his vision becomes spotty. He’s probably got a concussion. His wrist is already broken, but Steve thinks his right shoulder might also be dislocated, and both of his legs hurt when he tries to move them.

It’s quiet in the warehouse. No matter how hard Steve tries to strain to hear voices or sounds, he doesn’t hear any noise. He doesn’t smell anything around him, either. It’s like his senses are dulled from the crash. His vision is blurry, and all he tastes is metal in his mouth.

Steve might be bleeding somewhere. He feels something trickle down his cheek, and when he glances down, a small pool of blood shas started to collect on his good shoulder.

He’s still wearing his suit, but the entire garment is a bloody and soiled mess. His dress pants are ripped at the knees. His jacket is shredded from the glass of the windshield. His white dress shirt is covered in blood and his vest is torn. He doesn’t know where his tie went.

He curiously sweeps his eyes over his body, assessing his injuries. Besides his head and arms, his chest burns painfully, and his throat feels like it’s on fire. He might have a bruised rib, and Steve doesn’t want to think much about how he sometimes coughs up blood. He might have internal injuries.

Steve shoves those thoughts away, then begins to sweep his eyes over the warehouse. _Focus_ , he thinks to himself. What’s going to help him get out of this situation?

Steve doesn’t really find anything that could answer that for him as he carefully assess the warehouse. Besides the fact that he’s currently tied to a chair, there aren’t any windows he could smash, and another sweep of the room tells him that there aren’t any sharp tools to help him cut the ropes of his restraints. He can’t easily defend himself if he’s tied up like this.

There are a couple of sheets covering something around the spaces Steve’s eyes can see, but he has no idea what’s underneath them. It doesn’t look like he’s going to get much help from anything around him.

He tries to think, but every time he moves his head, his vision starts to blur, and sharp pain erupts beneath his skull. He knows he isn’t really aware of his surroundings. He can’t make himself _focus_. He’s definitely concussed.

The only thing that he can remotely feel comforted by is knowing that he’s still got his wolfsbane in his breast pocket. A press back against the metal chair tells him that Rumlow’s stripped him of his gun and his phone, but when Steve peaks into the pocket of his jacket, he sees that the pink herb is still tucked safely inside of it. Bucky was right; Rumlow probably doesn’t know what wolfsbane is.

The thought of Bucky makes his heart clench in his chest. If Steve wasn’t so stubborn, he might have been at the nearest hospital right now. Bucky would be holding his hand as a doctor fit his wrist for a brace or wrapped it up in plaster. He’d be fussing over the finger-shaped bruises on Steve’s neck from where Rumlow had choked him, and Steve would've had to give him a kiss to get him to calm down. He’d glare at the nurses stoically as they explained to Steve that he needed to keep his wrist as stable as possible to allow it to heal correctly, and Steve would just squeeze Bucky’s hand reassuringly to get him to stop looking so murderous. Bucky wouldn’t let him drive home, but he’d hold Steve’s good hand the entire drive. They’d probably cuddle, and Bucky would be so gentle with his touch so he doesn’t accidentally put any pressure on Steve’s wrist. They’d be _together._

Steve shakes his head when his eyes start to become watery. It’s not going to do him any good if he lets himself get emotional right now. He has to believe that Bucky knows what’s happened to him by now. He has to believe that Bucky is coming for him.

He glances at the wolfsbane in his pocket again. He can’t do anything with the herb if his hands remain tied behind his back. He’s going to have to somehow get out of the ropes.

Eventually, Rumlow does come back. This time, he’s wearing a black shirt and tactical pants. He looks so normal that Steve wants to strangle him.

“You’re looking peaky,” Rumlow tells him as he grabs a hold of Steve’s chin and tilts his face side to side. Steve scoffs at him, trying to pull his face away. Rumlow tightens his grip.

“Don’t touch me,” Steve hisses, and Rumlow laughs.

“What are you gonna do, Cap? Break my other hand?” Rumlow asks, lifting up the hand Bucky broke. Steve hadn’t seen it earlier, and while Rumlow’s hand _is_ red and swollen, it doesn’t look nearly as bad as Steve would expect it to look. Not with how hard he knows Bucky snapped the bones.

Steve scowls at him when Rumlow laughs again, and he doesn’t really think before he licks over his bloody teeth and spits. His saliva hits Rumlow right in the face. Steve grins.

Within a split second, he’s gurgling around blood in his mouth. His jaw aches, and he gasps at the throb of pain that bleeds out over his mandible. He coughs, and blood splatters across the concrete.

It takes him half a second to realize that Rumlow’s punched him.

“You _really_ want to antagonize me,” Rumlow starts, gripping Steve’s chin again, and Steve groans as sharp pinpricks erupt over his jaw, “on the night of a full moon?”

Steve’s entire body freezes.

Rumlow gives him a menacing smile. “Go ahead,” he says mockingly, “try to piss me off again. Let’s see how much you can take before I break you.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, and Rumlow grips his chin tightly before he shoves his face away. The force of the shove has Steve biting back a sob.

Steve watches as Rumlow takes a few steps away from him and takes out a small bag from his tac pants. Rumlow’s eyes snap up to him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give me that look,” he says dramatically. “I didn’t hit you _that_ hard.”

Steve ignores him. “How long have I been here?” he asks, spitting out more blood. This time, he aims it towards the concrete. His cheek stings as he purses his lips to clear the metallic taste from his mouth, and Steve feels blood run down his face. The force of Rumlow’s blow has split his cheek open.

He snaps his eyes back to the werewolf, but Rumlow looks completely at ease as he shrugs. “A few hours,” he says contemplatively. “Give or take.”

“How _long_ ,” Steve bites out, and Rumlow smirks.

“The sun’s up,” Rumlow replies, shrugging again before he starts to open the small cloth bag in his hands.

Steve bristles. That’s why Rumlow’s hand looks as healed as it does. If the sun’s up, he’s been in this warehouse for at least ten hours. It was only nine o’clock when he and Sharon had left the ball. Rumlow had time to heal. He’s had _ten hours_ to heal.

Steve must have been blacked out for longer than he thought.

“You passed out when I dragged you from that car,” Rumlow tells him, and Steve glares at him. “From the blood loss,” he adds with a smirk when Steve scowls.

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish here?” Steve asks him, and Rumlow gives him a look as he crouches down towards the concrete only a few feet away from Steve. “I mean, you’ve kidnapped a cop. That’s a felony. You’ve injured _another_ police officer — ”

“Injured,” Rumlow scoffs mockingly, giving Steve a cocky grin. “How do you know that crash didn’t kill her?”

Steve thrashes against the ropes, ignoring the pain that erupts in his chest once more. Rumlow laughs, then starts to pour the contents of the bag onto the concrete. The powdery substance is a dark green, but it’s so concentrated it looks like it could be black. Rumlow begins pouring it into a circle.

“Relax,” Rumlow tells him. “Your lady friend is fine.”

“What do you want?” Steve scowls at him. “What’s the point of all this? Are you trying to intimidate me? I’ve got news for you, Rumlow. You don’t _fucking_ scare me.”

“Liar,” Rumlow says softly, almost gently, as his menacing voice caresses the concrete walls.

Steve’s heart accelerates. He can’t hide his bodily reactions from a werewolf.

“If you were trying to kill me when you crashed my car, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Steve hisses, and Rumlow looks at him again as he finishes up the circle. His eyes are electric blue, and it sends a tendril of fear down Steve’s spine.

“All in good time, Cap,” Rumlow responds, throwing the cloth bag off behind one of the sheet covered items. “You’ll die soon enough.”

“That’s the plan?” Steve asks, glaring.

“Part of it,” Rumlow says, standing to his feet as he surveys the circle of powder. It’s only about three feet wide, and Steve watches as Rumlow reaches his hand that isn’t broken out towards the barrier. The sound of sizzling flesh startles Steve as Rumlow’s hand meets the invisible barrier, and he hisses, stepping back quickly. A grin spreads out over his mouth.

“What is that?” Steve asks.

“So many questions,” Rumlow says, shaking his head. He holds out his hand in front of his face to look at it, and the skin of his hand starts knitting itself back together.

“If you actually answered me, maybe I’d stop asking,” Steve bites out.

Rumlow’s electric blue eyes snap to his. “If you haven’t figured everything out by now, you haven’t been paying attention. Some detective you are, Cap,” he chuckles sardonically.

Steve struggles against his restraints, panting when pain races through him yet again. “Please — ”

“Please _what_?” Rumlow asks, a low growl in his throat. “Let you go? Bucky hasn’t found you yet, Rogers. Have a _little_ faith.”

“That’s what you’re trying to do?” Steve asks, scowling as he strains his hands against the ropes. His broken wrist aches. “You’re using me to lure him here?”

“Careful, Cap,” Rumlow chides, taking a few steps forward before moving behind the metal chair. Steve tenses when he can no longer see him. The ropes around his hands tighten. “You don’t want to hurt yourself more, do you?”

“What are you trying to do?” Steve snarls. “What are you going to do to him?”

Fingers tighten in his hair and yank hard, and then his head is being pulled back harshly. His neck strains roughly at the pressure. He groans in pain when Rumlow hisses, “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You want his territory,” Steve bites out over the burn in his throat.

“Come on, Steve,” Rumlow laughs in his ear. “It shouldn’t take you this long to catch up.”

“What are you going to do?” Steve repeats, thrashing against the hand in his hair. “Hurt me so that he’ll give it to you? Even if you do kill me, he still won’t give up his territory.”

Rumlow chuckles lowly in his ear. “Who said anything about him _giving_ it to me?”

Steve’s heart stops beating.

“I’m going to take this territory from your Alpha,” Rumlow says, his voice like venom in Steve’s ear. He pulls Steve’s hair harder, and Steve bites his lip hard enough to bleed so he doesn’t scream out. “He’s going to find you, Steve. He’s going to accept my challenge.”

“And then what, huh?” Steve says harshly, his heart in his throat as black spots scatter across his vision. “What’s your big plan?”

Rumlow lets go of his hair roughly. He moves, and when Steve sees those electric blue eyes again, there are claws at his throat.

“Patience, Cap,” Rumlow says slowly, running his clawed index finger right over Steve’s jugular. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And, for the second time in less than twelve hours, Steve blacks out again.

—

“It’s been ten hours, Sam,” Bucky says, fighting to keep his voice low. He can’t look away from the window of the precinct as he clutches Steve’s dog tags in his hands. His eyes are glued to the Camaro out of the window. They still haven’t moved it from where it’s wrapped around the light pole.

Bucky tries to take a deep breath. He can’t get himself to calm down. His head is racing, and his wolf is outright growling beneath his skin. He can feel how furious it is. The pull of the moon lies just beneath his wolf, and Bucky has to close his eyes harshly when he feels his eyes start to bleed red.

“ _Ten hours_ ,” Bucky repeats, growling lowly. He doesn’t care if anyone hears him.

“I know, Bucky,” Sam replies, his voice pinched.

Bucky snarls. He’s going to lose it.

“Bucky,” Sam says quietly, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. The touch is supposed to be comforting, but Bucky snaps his eyes open, glaring. Sam takes his hand off, raising it carefully. Bucky makes a low noise in his throat. “I know. We don’t know where he’s at, man. We can’t do anything until we _know_.”

“We know who took him,” Bucky snaps harshly. “That entire car reeks of Rumlow’s scent.” He doesn’t mention how he’d only been able to smell the other werewolf’s scent after he’d already smelled Steve’s blood.

“I know that, Bucky,” Sam says patiently. “But _they_ don’t.”

Behind them, the entire precinct is thrumming with noise. Natasha has every spare detective working to help find Steve. There are techies analyzing parts of the Camaro’s interior, which includes the seatbelt that only could have been shredded with claws, and the broken glass and door hinge. The remaining detectives are out canvassing the surrounding area of the precinct for any witnesses. Two other unis are supposedly with Sharon at the hospital, waiting to bring her back to the precinct. Even more people are outside, gathered around as they watch uniformed officers dust for prints across what’s left of the Camaro’s hood and passenger side door. Bucky can hear the crowd murmuring, speculating on the scene before them, and he clenches his jaw as the overlapping voices echo in his ears.

All of the scents and sounds around him are overwhelming his wolf. He can’t focus with all of these fucking noises and smells around him. His wolf snarls beneath his skin.

Bucky runs his thumb across the raised metal of Steve’s dog tags, growling lowly. He doesn’t remember how he got to the precinct. He doesn’t know if his bike is outside, or if he ran. All he knows is that when he stumbled up to the Camaro and had seen the wreckage, had seen all of the glass and blood, had heard the sirens and the wails of ambulances and squad cars, had smelt that metallic tang as his eyes had swept over the trail of red leading away from the driver’s side door — as if Rumlow had _dragged_ Steve — he’d started shifting. He’d taken one look at the bloody interior of the car and had to turn away to stop himself from throwing his head back and howling.

He hadn’t even noticed Steve’s dog tags until he’d taken a few steps away from the wreckage to try to rein his wolf in. They’d been thrown out onto the street, discarded like a piece of trash, right next to Steve’s crushed and broken phone. Steve hasn’t taken his dog tags off in weeks. He’d never leave them out on the street like that. When he’d seen them, Bucky couldn’t help but think that the silver had looked out of place against the asphalt that was now stained a dark red. He’d picked them up and held them close to his chest, like he is now, and desperately tried to stop himself from crying. It was only when Sam had come up behind him, gently rubbing a soothing hand over his shoulder, that he’d let the tears fall. It’d taken _everything_ in him to stop himself from completely wolfing out.

“I don’t give a shit what they don’t know,” Bucky snarls, glaring at Sam as he opens his eyes harshly. “We need to be out there looking for him.”

“We will,” Sam says, crossing his arms. “But we have no idea where Rumlow took him, Bucky. They could be anywhere.”

“They’re close,” Bucky argues, shaking his head. He can feel it. His wolf can feel it. He knows that Steve’s somewhere nearby.

“Listen,” Sam says gently, and Bucky looks out of the window again, clutching the dog tags closer to his chest. He doesn’t need to hear any more excuses. Sam’s heartbeat echoes in Bucky’s ears. “Sharon was out cold when I got here after she called me, man. You _know_ that. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. She might have some information that we don’t. We have to wait, Bucky.”

“While you’re busy _waiting_ ,” Bucky hisses, growling, “Steve could already be dead.”

Sam stiffens, and Bucky clenches his jaw. He didn’t mean to say that. He’s been actively trying not to think about that happening.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Bucky continues to look out the window. His eyes find the Camaro again, and he growls quietly under his breath. It’s completely totaled. When they do eventually find Steve, he’s going to be upset. He loves that car.

“Do you really think he’s dead?” Sam asks quietly next to him, and the curl of his scent, the agony that emulates from him, makes Bucky taste ash on his tongue.

He shouldn’t be taking his anger out on Sam. Sam’s trying to keep a level head for Bucky’s sake, even though Sam looks like he could keel over any second. For the first time since he’d stumbled over to the precinct and saw Sam standing over the wreckage of the Camaro, Bucky actually begins to assess him. He looks broken, which is as close to how Bucky feels as he thinks he can get. He’s just as torn up about this entire situation as Bucky is. It’s not fair to treat him like this. He’s lost Steve, too. Sam is Steve’s best friend, but he’s also more than that. He’s the closest thing to a brother that Steve has. Sam loves Steve, not in the way that Bucky does, but in the way that makes Steve _family_. He’s trying not to fall apart for Bucky, and Bucky needs to try just as hard for him, too.

In their love for Steve, in this moment, both Bucky and Sam are broken, kindred spirits.

“No,” Bucky says after a moment, deflating slightly. “I’d feel it. But more than that,” he pauses, searching for the words. “Rumlow wouldn’t kill him yet. I pissed him off. He wants revenge. It’s not really about Steve.”

Sam nods. “Which is why you’re not going off on your own, yet. You’re barely keeping your shift under control, man. Going out right now, without knowing all of the information we need to help find Steve, isn’t going to help us find him faster.”

Bucky shakes his head sadly. “It’s my fault that he’s gone, Sam. I let him go — ”

“You didn’t let him do anything, Bucky,” Sam says sternly. Bucky shakes his head again, but Sam continues, “No one lets Steve do anything. He makes his own choices. The only person who’s to blame for this is fucking _Rumlow_.”

Bucky runs a hand over his face, suddenly overcome with emotion. His head is completely jumbled, and his heart beats rapidly in his chest. His wolf howls mournfully beneath his skin, and Bucky feels tears prickle at his eyes.

He sniffles, looking down at Steve’s dog tags. He runs his thumb over the metal again, saying quietly, “If I _lose_ him — ”

“I know,” Sam says quietly, and this time Bucky doesn’t flinch away from the touch Sam offers him. He sniffles again, rubbing at his eyes.

It hits Bucky then, how Sam would be the only one capable of knowing what Bucky would be going through if he lost Steve, because Sam would lose him, too.

Bucky can’t even think about losing Steve. He knows that if he even thinks about it for one second, if he lets himself wonder for a _split second_ , he’s going to start losing it all over again. Just the thought alone, of somehow living in a world where Steve no longer exists, makes Bucky tremble with agony. He refuses to even _acknowledge_ the thought of Steve dying. That’s not going to happen. Bucky won’t _let it_ happen. He’ll do anything to get Steve back, to make sure that he’s safe. He’ll tear apart the world if he has to.

The sound of another heartbeat suddenly sounds through Bucky’s ears, and he quickly checks his reflection in the window to make sure his eyes aren’t glowing before he turns around in time to see Natasha yell, “Sam!” Next to him, Sam turns towards the sound of his name, and they both watch as Natasha waves them over towards Steve’s and Sam’s desks in the middle of the precinct.

When Bucky looks over Natasha’s shoulder, he sees Sharon sitting at Sam’s desk, and she looks awful. She’s not wearing the black dress Bucky had seen on her at the masquerade, just a pair of sweats. Her hand is wrapped in gauze, and her other arm is securely fastened in a sling. There’s a brace on her leg, and her eyes are rimmed a blood red.

But her face is what Bucky can’t look away from. Her entire face is swollen and covered in cuts. She’s got a bandage on a gash over her eyebrow back to her scalp, and she looks incredibly uncomfortable. He knows he's staring at the face of someone who’s in tremendous pain.

And if Sharon looks like this, what is Steve going to look like? How many injuries is he going to have?

Bucky feels his wolf howl in anguish deep inside him, and he has to look away from Sharon’s face before he loses control of his shift again.

“Hey, Sharon,” Sam says gently when they both walk over to the desk. Sharon gives him a weak smile, and her eyes flicker to Bucky before settling back on Sam. She smells like gasoline and antiseptic, but Bucky can clearly smell her confusion. Sam watches her before he gives her a small grin and gestures to Bucky. “This is Bucky,” he says quietly. “Steve’s boyfriend.”

Bucky tries valiantly to give her a smile, or even a look that doesn’t come across as homicidal, but he hears the way her heartbeat begins to accelerate in panic and her scent curls into something sharp, he figures he’s not done a good enough job. He can’t bring himself to really care. If Steve were here, he’d be gently nudging Bucky to try harder, to give off a good impression. He’d smile encouragingly at Bucky, soothingly rubbing small circles over the inside of his wrist. He’d smell like autumn leaves and their runs through Prospect Park. His heart would be a steady rhythm in his chest, a song only Bucky can hear.

Bucky’s throat tightens.

_God, if Steve were here —_

“Can you tell us what happened?” Sam’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and Sharon’s eyes snap back to him from where she’d been looking at Bucky with an unreadable look on her face. Beside her, Natasha gives her an encouraging smile.

“Steve and I were talking,” Sharon says, her voice scratchy and uneven. “I was telling him something, and. . .I don’t remember what we were talking about.”

“That’s okay,” Natasha tells her gently. Sharon nods.

“There was an SUV behind us,” she continues, and her voice cracks slightly. “Steve kept watching it out of the mirror, but everything was fine for a while. Then it. . .rear ended us, I think. Twice. And then we hit the light pole.”

She shifts, and Bucky inhales sharply at the scent that clings to his nose. The metallic smell of blood floods over him, and Bucky closes his eyes sharply. The scent of Steve’s blood is _all over her_.

His wolf howls.

“Everything is kind of blurry after we hit the light pole, but I remember him talking to me. Steve asked me if I was hurt,” Sharon says, and Bucky feels his hands clench into fists. “I told him I was okay, but he said he didn’t know if he was hurt or not.” She closes her eyes, and Bucky’s chest feels tight. _God, Steve didn’t even know if he was hurt. . ._ “He told me to tell you that the SUV’s license plate was 2-2-1-November-Kilo-Omega. He repeated it to me twice. He told me to tell you it exactly like that.”

Natasha moves away from her side to enter the license plate into the computer on Steve’s desk.

 _Omega_ , Bucky thinks bitterly to himself. If he and Sam didn’t already know that Rumlow was the one to take Steve, they fucking do now. Steve was trying to tell them, even when he knew he wasn’t going to be able to tell them himself.

Bucky’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. When did Steve realize he wasn’t going to make it out of that car? What was going through his head when he’d realized that no one was there to save him? God, Bucky feels lightheaded.

“Then he became. . .frantic,” Sharon continues, and her breathing picks up harshly. Bucky’s mouth runs dry. “He kept saying that I needed to stay quiet so that whoever was in the SUV didn’t notice me. He said that they didn’t care about me. That whoever it was wanted _him_.”

Bucky feels his claws pierce his palms. He closes his eyes again. His canines push against his lips. Static starts to echo in his ears.

“Steve knew your attacker?” Natasha asks Sharon, and a tear slips down Sharon’s eye. The salty smell of it makes Bucky want to growl.

“I think so,” Sharon replies. She shakes her head. “I don’t think I saw his face. But then the guy started talking to Steve, and Steve didn’t say _anything_. He didn’t _do_ anything. And then I heard this. . .sound.” She shudders. “Like the guy was ripping the car door off. I watched him grab Steve. Steve wasn’t moving.” Another tear slides down her cheek. Bucky can’t even _breathe_. “And then the guy took him.” She sniffles. “I didn’t see what direction they went in, and I don’t even know if Steve was _alive_.” Her voice cracks again. “I called you, Sam, as soon as I could. And I don’t know what happened after that.”

Bucky doesn’t hear anything for a moment. Sam’s and Natasha’s voices fade away from him, and all he can hear is static in his ears. His wolf seethes inside of him, and Bucky feels his chest tighten even more until he can’t take in anymore air. He can’t breathe.

Steve’s hurt, and he’s alone with Rumlow. The things that Rumlow could be doing to him right now. . .

 _I don’t even know if Steve was_ alive _._

Bucky can’t _breathe_.

“Bucky,” someone says close to his ear, but Bucky doesn’t open his eyes. He gasps and he clenches his fists at his sides. He doesn’t even feel the pain from his claws digging into his palms again.

He makes a noise in his throat, and a cold sweat breaks out over his forehead. He feels cold all over. His heart isn’t beating anymore. Blood isn’t moving through his veins. Nothing is working right.

He can’t breathe.

_Where are you_

“He’s having a panic attack,” another voice says, and hands are on him. Bucky starts flinching away from whoever’s touching him, and he growls threateningly. He doesn’t want anyone but Steve to touch him.

_Where are you_

The hands tug at him, and Bucky doesn’t want to move but he feels his feet moving anyway. Everything feels so dark around him. He can’t. . .he can’t see anything. There are too many scents around him. He can’t — he can’t ground himself. His wolf is prowling beneath his skin. He chest feels tight. He can’t breathe. He can feel his wolf snarling. He — his _anchor_ — _fuck, where the fuck is Steve_ — he can’t — nothing is —

_Where are you where are you where are you where are you where are you_

He — is being shoved into a chair.

Hands push at his back, and suddenly, his chest hits his legs as his head hangs between his knees. The gentle fingers at his back rub in between his shoulder blades.

“Breathe, Bucky,” the voice says, and the hands on him squeeze and shake at his shoulders. “Breathe.”

He takes a deep breath in, and he coughs as the air is pushed out of his lungs.

_Fuck, where am I what’s going on where is Steve where are you where are you where are you where are you_

“You’re okay, Bucky,” the voice continues as Bucky tries in to inhale again. His wolf howls inside of him as the hands on his back continue to move in comforting circles. “You’re safe, man. You’ve got this. Breathe, Bucky.”

Bucky inhales deeply, overwhelmed as air begins to swirl into his lungs. He takes another breath, then brings his hands up to his face to move his hair out of the way. He inhales slowly. Again. And again.

“There you go,” the voice says, and the sounds of the precinct slowly come back to him. He concentrates on the sounds, wading through them so he can focus on the steady beat of a heart near his ears.

It’s not Steve’s heartbeat. He would know Steve’s heartbeat anywhere. This isn’t Steve’s heartbeat, but it’s steady in his ears. His senses narrow in on it, and slowly, his breathing starts to even out.

“Relax, Bucky,” he hears, and he’s finally able to recognize Sam’s calming voice as he takes another deep breath. Sam’s hands are at his back, and he gently shifts them to Bucky’s shoulders so he can crouch in front of Bucky.

“You’ve got to calm down, Bucky,” Sam tells him, his voice reverberating through Bucky’s ears. “You were having a panic attack, and you started to wolf out. I know it’s hard, but you need to get yourself under control, buddy. You can do it. You’ve got this. If everyone out there sees you wolfing out, they’re going to be focused on you instead of finding Steve. Take another deep breath, man.”

Bucky does, and it’s easy this time. He doesn’t feel like his throat is on fire. He doesn’t smell Steve’s blood or Sharon’s salty tears. All he smells is Sam’s scent. The scent of pack.

“Sorry,” Bucky says after a moment. Shame curls in his abdomen. He never lets anyone else see him fall apart like this.

“You’re okay,” Sam says, rubbing Bucky’s shoulder. “No one is going to judge you, Bucky. Your boyfriend’s been taken. You’re allowed to fall apart.”

Bucky feels a wet chuckle rip itself from his throat, and he sniffles. His cheeks are wet with tears, and he starts wiping them away.

“I smelt his blood on her,” he tells Sam quietly. He opens his eyes slowly, and he looks at Sam sharply. He hopes his eyes aren’t glowing. “And she started talking about how he was hurt and it just. . .”

Sam doesn’t say anything, and Bucky sniffles again.

“I — I can’t even _think_ ,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I can’t control. . . _anything_. The pull of the moon is too strong. I can’t even focus enough to try to track him. My wolf. . .”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, Bucky,” Sam says softly, giving him a weak smile. “I know.”

“The thought of him out there like that. . .” Bucky trails off, shaking his head again. “He’s _hurt,_ and the full moon is tonight, Sam. I don’t know if Rumlow can control himself. Steve’s alone with him.”

“We’re going to get him back, Bucky,” Sam says resolutely. “He’s strong and he’s _smart_ , man. You have to believe that he’s going to be okay.”

Bucky nods, taking another deep breath, before he straightens. A quick glance around his surroundings tells him that Sam pulled him into one of the interrogation rooms. Bucky doesn’t see anyone watching them behind the window where he can see the rest of the precinct, but that doesn’t mean that no one saw him beginning to shift. He needs to get himself under control. It’s reckless of him to be so careless with his shift like this, even if the pull of the moon is starting to take effect on him. If Steve were here, he’d be reminding Bucky that he was in control of himself, that everything was okay.

But Steve _isn’t_ here, and everything is _not_ okay. Bucky’s going to have to calm himself down on his own.

He wipes his hands together so the blood can flake off of his palms. He takes a deep breath, focusing. Slowly, his claws disappear into his fingernails, and his canines retract back into his gums.

He looks at Sam, and Sam gives him a definitive nod. “You’ve got this,” he says. “We’re gonna get him back.”

Bucky nods, standing up as he sniffles again. He wipes his eyes once more, taking another deep breath as he follows Sam out of the interrogation room. Sam gives him a comforting rub on the back as they make their way back to the middle of the precinct.

When they walk up to Steve’s and Sam’s desks, Natasha gives him a sympathetic look, her eyes slowly trailing over his face. “Are you okay?” she asks him softly, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah,” he tells her. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, Bucky,” she says, waving a dismissive hand as her eyes shine with pity. “I get it.”

“I’m _so sorry_ , Bucky,” Sharon tells him, and Bucky shifts his eyes to her, frowning. “I didn’t mean to make you panic like that. I didn’t even think — ”

“Please,” Bucky cuts her off quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s seconds away from biting her head off. “I know. I just wasn’t prepared to hear about all of that. I don’t like knowing that he’s somewhere out there and hurt.”

Sharon looks at him painfully, her eyes shining apologetically, but she just gives him a small nod. Sam pats his shoulder soothingly again. Natasha gives him another sympathetic look.

“Did you find out who owns that SUV?” Sam asks after a tense pause, and Natasha snaps her attention to him once the silence is broken.

“It’s a company car,” Natasha says, nodding. “Which means we don’t know who the driver is, but the car belongs to Alexander Pierce.”

“So, someone from Hydra tried to kill us?” Sharon asks indignantly, and Bucky’s chest swells with irritation.

“They might have figured out what we tried to do at the masquerade,” Natasha says, turning to Sharon. “What did you do with Pierce’s check?”

“It’s in my purse,” Sharon says immediately, then pales. “I left it in Steve’s car.”

Natasha’s eyes glance around the precinct, and she spots the small black clutch on an evidence table and quickly grabs it. She rifles through the purse once she gets it open and pulls out a white envelope.

“I’ll have someone else run this while we look for Steve,” Natasha says. “If someone from Hydra did try to kill you and Steve, we’ll be able to officially launch an investigation into Alexander Pierce.”

“I’ve got a print,” a voice says behind them, and Bucky turns around. A stout looking forensic techie is tapping on a tablet, and he quickly hands the tablet to Natasha. “I pulled this print off of the door handle of the driver’s side door.”

“This is redacted,” Natasha says in frustration, laying the tablet on top of Sam’s desk. She huffs irritably, shaking her head. The techie turns around and walks away without another word.

Sharon glances at the tablet, quirking an eyebrow up as she scans the screen. She furrows her eyebrows, moving to start typing on Sam’s computer.

“This print is from someone in the United States Army,” she mutters, and Natasha’s head snaps up.

“The Army? Like from the one off of those guns?” Her eyes glance towards Bucky, probably uncomfortable with discussing details of a criminal investigation, but she turns away and looks over Sharon’s shoulder before he can say anything.

“Yeah,” Sharon says. “I got an email at the ball that the file was unsealed for me. Let me pull it up.”

She clicks at the keyboard slowly with the fingers of her bandaged hand, and Sam and Bucky glance at each other briefly while Natasha reads the screen over Sharon’s shoulder. They both already know what Sharon’s going to find.

“Brock Rumlow,” Natasha says, and Bucky’s wolf snarls at the sound of the omega’s name. “Discharged from the Army a few years ago for assault.” Her eyes widen. “Some background check Pierce does.” She continues scanning the file. “He served with Steve, which explains why Steve would know him. Is this the guy you saw?”

“I don’t know,” Sharon says uncertainly. “He looks. . .different here.”

“Different how?” Natasha asks.

Sharon shakes her head. “He had scars on his face, I think. And his eyes. . .” 

Sam crosses his arms and looks at Sharon, asking, “What about his eyes, Sharon?”

“They were a different color,” Sharon replies, shaking her head again. “They were glowing.”

Bucky stiffens, staring a Sharon as he grits his teeth. “Glowing?” Natasha asks, confused.

Sharon sighs. “I don’t. . .I don’t know, Nat. It’s. . .they were _glowing.”_

“Okay,” Natasha says gently, patting Sharon’s shoulder. She glances at Sam, then flicks her eyes back to the computer screen. “The address listed here is current. Let’s go check it out.” She turns around swiftly, moving towards the entrance of the precinct.

“Sharon saw Rumlow’s eyes,” Sam says under his breath, glancing at Bucky. Bucky clenches his jaw.

“I know,” he growls lowly, shaking his head. “We’ll deal with her later. But Natasha isn’t going to find Steve at Rumlow’s address,” Bucky says quietly. Sam nods at him, frowning.

Bucky watches as Natasha starts yelling at the remaining detectives to start suiting up for a hostage situation. He looks out of the window, where a tow truck is finally moving to tow Steve’s car away. He furrows his eyebrows.

“Are there any places close to here that Rumlow could have taken him?”

“They’d have to be empty,” Sam says under his breath, eyes tracking Natasha. “It’d be hard to hold him in a place that had workers or was open to the public.”

“A warehouse?” Bucky snaps irritably.

Sam’s eyes widen as his breath stutters in his lungs. “There’s a Hydra warehouse a few miles from here, but I don’t know if it’s empty. If you think he’s close. . .” Sam trails off, clenching his jaw. “He could be there.”

“I’ll find it,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s dog tags and looping them around his neck. He doesn’t feel comfortable letting go of them. He backs away from Sam, already moving to start walking away, but Sam reaches a hand out to stop him.

“Bucky, I can’t go with you, man. Natasha’s probably going to have me go check out Rumlow’s place, and you shouldn’t go alone.”

Bucky huffs. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You need to go with everyone else here so that no one’s worried about where I’m at.” He pointedly lowers his voice. “If Rumlow pushes me too hard, I’m going to have to push back, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes blaze into his, bright and fiery. “I don’t care if you kill him,” he says. “Good fucking riddance. He tried to kill Steve. I just. . .be careful, okay? Steve’s worries about you are completely valid. It’s a full moon tonight. Keep your head on.”

“I’m going to tear out his fucking throat,” Bucky growls, and Sam gives him a supportive pat.

“Okay, man.” He eyes Bucky seriously. “Get Steve back. Make sure he’s safe.”

Bucky nods, glancing at where Natasha is talking to the remaining detectives over by her office, before he turns around swiftly, running out the doors of the precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, Rumlow, and Steve in the next chapter. . .what could possibly go wrong?
> 
> I'm super excited to post the next chapter, so stay tuned! Things are about to get a lot more interesting. 
> 
> For your reading enjoyment, [here is the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNjgfTfQjCQ) I imagine playing while badass Bucky goes to save Steve. I also listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMMbeaJV4HM) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lshmwmeU7c) while writing this chapter. [This is the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NmX5vcNK6E) I imagine playing during Bucky's panic attack. Also, [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5T883kjtxeU) is most definitely Rumlow's anthem. 
> 
> See you all in a few days!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you guys so much for all of your support for this story! I'm so excited to post this chapter, and I can't wait for you to read it!
> 
> My work continues to be unbeta'd, and I've tried really hard to catch all of my errors, so I'm so sorry if there are any inconsistencies or errors in this chapter. With my classes picking up now, I can't really devote as much time as I'd like to proofread everything, so I'm super glad that I've already written all of these chapters to make it easier for myself. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: This chapter explores themes of mild - graphic depictions of violence. It does go in depth with descriptions of violent acts, how those acts are received, and their fallout. If you would like a more in depth description of these violent acts, please see the end nots. PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THE END NOTES WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS. I want everyone to have an enjoyable reading experience, so please read with caution if you find these warnings to be a trigger for you! 
> 
> Enjoy! Also, please don't hate me for this chapter!

_“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” — Friedrich Nietzsche_

“Wake up,” Steve hears, and a harsh slap to his face has him tumbling into consciousness. He looks up angrily, but Rumlow just gives him a cocky grin.

“You know what I don’t get?” Rumlow continues conversationally as he takes a few steps away from Steve’s metal chair. He’s completely unbothered, like he didn’t just slap Steve so hard that his teeth ache from the impact.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just spits blood out onto the concrete again.

Rumlow gives him a smirk. “If you’re so obsessed with forgetting about the time your entire team deserted you, why do you still wear your dog tags?”

Steve glances down at the middle of his chest and shifts a little, but he doesn’t feel the cool metal shift against his chest. He looks up when Rumlow laughs harshly.

“Oh,” he says mockingly. “I ripped them off your neck. Thought I might have been doing you a favor.”

Steve scowls at him and clenches his jaw.

“What? No smart remark? Not in the mood to talk?” Rumlow taunts, chuckling.

Steve steels his shoulders and looks straight ahead even as his teeth chatter from the freezing air of the room.

“That’s alright,” Rumlow says, and Steve’s eye twitches. “I’ll do all the talking. You know how much I love to hear myself talk.”

Steve scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks at Rumlow head on, then rolls his eyes.

Rumlow snarls at him, and the sound of it makes Steve’s heart skip a beat as he tries not to flinch.

“You know, I thought your boyfriend might have been here by now,” Rumlow tells him, taking a step forward. The fluorescent lights above them glint menacingly against his lengthened claws when he raises them up so Steve can see him pick at them. “I must say, I’m highly underwhelmed so far.”

Steve scowls, grinding his teeth. He tries to school his features, to look unbothered. He knows that Bucky is coming for him. He also knows that Sam wouldn’t have let Bucky go off on his own right now, not when he knows that Bucky’s struggling to control his wolf and is most likely being influenced by the pull of the full moon, even though the moon hasn’t risen yet. He knows they would’ve wanted to form a plan. He’s not going to let Rumlow’s snide comments get to him.

It still doesn’t stop the way he bites his lip so hard it starts to bleed again.

“You’re not even going to ask what that circle is for?” Rumlow asks, smirking. “Come on, Steve. I know you better than you think. You're dying to know, aren’t you? Go ahead,” he says, motioning towards the powder. “Ask me.”

“You don’t seem to be forthcoming with any actual answers,” Steve says, shrugging. He fights a grimace at the sharp sting across his chest. His wrists are aching. “And to be honest, I don’t really care what you have to say anymore.”

Rumlow’s smirk falls off of his face, and he growls and flashes his electric blue eyes again. Steve just rolls his eyes again, trying to seem uninterested. His entire body hurts.

“God, the mouth on you,” Rumlow says, running a hand through his hair. His hand shakes a little, and for the first time, Steve sees him falter slightly as he takes a deep breath to rein his wolf back in. His eyes dim back into their normal brown after another silent minute passes. “You should really watch yourself, Cap. It’s not the night for you to pick a fight with me.”

“I think I’m doing just fine,” Steve bites back, and Rumlow’s responding snarl has his eyes bleeding into blue again.

He moves before Steve even realizes it, and then Steve’s trying to hold back a groan when claws wrap around his throat again. He scowls, but Rumlow just grips him tighter, and Steve thrashes against his hand.

“Go ahead,” Rumlow growls. “Make another smart comment. I’ll rip your throat out before it gets past those pretty lips.”

Steve glares at him, thrashing again, but he doesn’t say anything. Rumlow grins, making a low noise in his throat.

He backs away after another tense second, and Steve immediately gulps in air. He coughs, and his throat burns.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Steve says harshly, spitting blood off to the side of the metal chair again, “what are you waiting for?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rumlow replies, giving him a wicked smile. His canines are out, and his face starts to shift a little before he takes another deep breath, and his features return to normal.

He’s not in control of himself, Steve realizes. He and Bucky were right. He isn’t used to the pull of the moon.

“What’s the endgame here?” Steve asks him, enunciating his words carefully. His vision is starting to go blurry again. _Focus_ , he thinks.

“Have you not been paying attention?” Rumlow asks back, smiling at the way Steve releases a small grunt of pain.

“You want Bucky’s territory,” Steve says, rolling his eyes once more. “I get that. You’re not going to get it. If Bucky accepts your challenge, he’ll kill you. He’s a lot stronger than you are. What makes you think you can take him?”

“You’re really caught up in the strength thing, aren’t you?” Rumlow asks, crouching down to survey the circle across from them. He smirks. “There are other ways to get what I want.”

“Such as?” Steve asks irritably.

“What do you think this is for?” Rumlow asks him, motioning to the circle of powder.

Steve eyes it, then gives Rumlow an unimpressed look. Rumlow actually laughs at him. He smiles widely.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of a trap?” Steve asks, scoffing. “Good luck with that. Bucky’s an Alpha werewolf, Rumlow. There’s no _trapping_ him.”

“Not for much longer, he’s not,” Rumlow replies, growling. He stands completely. “This circle is a circle of wolfsbane. Once he steps into it, he won’t get out. He’ll be completely at my mercy.”

Steve’s heart stops. He tries not to show his reaction to that. _Wolfsbane_ , Rumlow had said. He knows about wolfsbane.

 _He might not have been able to smell it on me_ , Steve’s mind immediately reminds him. The wolfsbane on the ground doesn’t look at all like the pink herb tucked into Steve’s pocket, even though it is crushed up. It looks more like black ash.

Maybe the wolfsbane Bucky gave him is different. Maybe Rumlow can’t tell the difference between the smells of the two plants. Whatever the reason, Steve knows he can’t let Rumlow know he’s got his own wolfsbane hidden in his pocket.

“How do you expect to fight him if he’s trapped?” Steve asks, trying to calm down his racing heart. He doesn’t want to alert Rumlow to his bodily reactions.

“Come on, Cap,” Rumlow singsongs at him, chuckling. “I know you’re smarter than this.”

 _He’s going to trap Bucky_ , he thinks. It’ll be easier for Rumlow to fight him if Bucky can’t move out of the circle. It’ll be nearly impossible for Bucky to defend himself, hard for him to even _move_ with how small that circle is.

Rumlow doesn’t want him to be able to fight back, Steve realizes. He knows he’s not strong enough to take on Bucky, not with Bucky being so much stronger than him. But if Bucky accepts the challenge, how is Rumlow going to be able to fight him when he can’t move inside the circle either?

Unless, of course, that’s exactly what Rumlow wants. Rumlow wants Bucky to be trapped. He wants Bucky to be unable to defend himself. The only way Rumlow will be able to win a challenge against Bucky is if Bucky’s at a disadvantage. Steve thought Rumlow brought him here to be some kind of a lure for Bucky, as _bait,_ but Rumlow’s smarter than that. He’s got to know that using Steve is the only way to get what he wants.

And what he wants, above all, is Bucky’s territory. Which Bucky isn’t going to give up. The only way for Rumlow to get this territory is to kill Bucky. 

Fuck, Rumlow’s going to try to force Bucky to accept his challenge, trap him, and _kill_ him.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Steve tries not to react to his thoughts, even though he can feel the blood beginning to drain from his face.

“You want to kill him,” Steve says slowly, the realization dawning over him. “You’re using me as bait to lure him here so that he’ll accept your challenge and you can kill him.”

“Finally!” Rumlow laughs, shaking his head. “You really are a shit detective.”

“How are you going to try to kill him? If he thinks you’re going to do anything to him, he’ll kill you before you get the chance,” Steve says reasonably, even as his heart starts to beat rapidly in his ears. He doesn’t know how he didn’t realize this sooner. This was never about killing _him_. Rumlow’s had plenty of opportunities to kill him over the course of however long Steve’s been held by him. If Rumlow wanted to rip him apart, he’s had the time to do it.

The waiting’s been intentional. He’s never planned on killing _Steve._ _Bucky_ i _s_ the one he wants.

Steve’s blood turns to ice in his veins.

“I’ve kidnapped his mate,” Rumlow replies easily, like the answer is so obvious he doesn’t understand how Steve’s _not_ understanding. “Bucky won’t do shit to me if I threaten to hurt you. His instincts won’t let him.”

 _“Mate,”_ Steve repeats, his heart pounding roughly against his ribcage. “You said that earlier. What does that even _mean_? Is that _another_ insult?”

Rumlow’s attention snaps back to him, and for a moment, all Steve sees is confusion. Rumlow’s eyes pinch questioningly, and he regards Steve confusingly, like he genuinely doesn’t know why Steve’s asking him something like that. Steve just squares his jaw and glares back. Rumlow’s quizzical expression disappears after a moment, and a predatory smile breaks out over his mouth.

“You don’t know,” he says, almost to himself. Steve’s eyes trail over Rumlow’s face in question as he scowls, but Rumlow chuckles. “You really don’t know. Fuck, this is amazing.”

“Know what?” Steve asks stubbornly, shaking his head. “Know _what?”_

“Oh, this is rich,” Rumlow says, ignoring Steve as he runs a hand through his hair and laughs again. His black shirt tightens over his bulging biceps, and Steve grimaces at the sight. “You don’t even _know_.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve hisses at him, frowning.

“I have to kill you now,” Rumlow declares suddenly, nodding his head decisively. He turns back to Steve, and his grin turns feral. Steve’s entire body recoils under his calculating gaze. “This is too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“What do you gain from killing us, Rumlow? What’s the _point_?” Steve yells, his entire body thrumming with pain as he thrashes. He can’t take this anymore. “Huh?” Steve screams. “Why are you doing this!”

“When I kill your boyfriend,” Rumlow says, his tone menacing, “I get his territory. But I also get his power. I’ll be the Alpha. Everything that belongs to him will then belong to me.” His salacious grin widens. “Which includes _you_.”

Fear coils in Steve’s stomach. Everything seems to go silent for a second as Steve’s entire body freezes at Rumlow’s words. All Steve sees behind the sudden scattering of spots in his vision is Rumlow’s smirk as he feels like the walls of the warehouse start to crumble around him.

“Maybe I’ll bite you,” Rumlow says contemplatively, scratching at his chin. “Killing you might not be _that_ satisfying. But,” he says, shaking his head, “I’d love to see the look on Bucky’s face when I snap your neck.”

The threat beneath Rumlow’s voice springs Steve into action, and he lunges against his restraints, and the ropes give way beneath him slightly as he thrashes. Rumlow’s on him almost immediately, and Steve yells in pain when Rumlow’s fist connects with the same side of Steve’s face he’d punched earlier. He falls onto the concrete, and the impact knocks the air from his lungs. He coughs harshly, and more blood spews across the concrete. He tries to inhale deeply, but he coughs at the fire in his throat. His breaths are labored and shallow. He wheezes after he coughs again.

Steve moves against the restraints, and somehow, both of his wrists come through. It’s agonizing to lift his hands to push himself up, but he does, and he wipes at the blood on his cheek harshly as he stands fully.

Rumlow’s claws are at his throat again before he can take another breath.

His back collides with the concrete wall, and black splotches scatter through his vision again. He has to bite down on his lip to stop the scream in his throat, and he breathes through his teeth wetly so he can focus enough to fight off a wave of nausea. The hand around his throat tightens.

Steve’s entire body convulses as molten fire erupts beneath his chest.

“You wanna try some shit like that again?” Rumlow hisses, pressing Steve’s head so hard against the concrete that Steve’s entire vision goes dark for a split second. “You’re just a little human, Rogers. You’re _nothing._ _Try it again_.”

Steve’s bones are aching. He’s so tired. He can’t even form a coherent thought anymore. He can’t feel the pain in his broken wrist, which probably might not be a good sign. His head is pounding so hard that he can’t focus.

He thrashes again, and this time, Rumlow’s claws do sink into the skin of his throat. Steve doesn’t want to react, but he can’t control how his body shudders in pain. He yells again, groaning, and Rumlow’s wicked grin widens.

Rumlow’s hand pushes into his trachea, and Steve can’t breathe anymore. He struggles and thrashes wildly, but the claws at his throat just dig in further.

He isn’t strong enough for this. He can’t fight off a werewolf.

Steve kicks and scratches at Rumlow’s hands, his body, anywhere he can reach. He tries and tries and tries to get Rumlow off of him. There’s not enough oxygen reaching his brain. His vision goes black at some point before the spots scatter again. He can’t _breathe_.

Rumlow leans in close to him and rips Steve’s injured hand off of his own arm, smirks obnoxiously, and lifts Steve's arm away from his body. The most sickening _snap_ echoes off the concrete right next to his head, and everything stops as white hot pain courses through his arm.

Rumlow’s snapped the bones in Steve’s arm. Rumlow’s broken Steve’s arm literally in _half_.

Steve can’t help it then. He tilts his head back as hot tears well in his eyes, and he screams and screams and _screams_.

Rumlow doesn’t relent in his hold against Steve’s throat, but he yanks harshly, and Steve struggles but can’t stop his body from being dragged forward. Rumlow is suddenly at his back, claws digging in roughly into Steve’s throat, and Steve whips his head forward and looks around the warehouse. It’s so hard to _focus_.

The first thing he sees is Bucky. At first, all Steve can feel is relieved. Bucky’s _here._ And, God, he looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are Alpha red and blazing like fire, but Steve can see, even through the spots in his vision, that Bucky’s been crying recently. His face is flushed and he’s breathing heavily. His canines are out, and he doesn’t even look at Rumlow as his eyes sweep over Steve’s body so quickly that Steve can't catch up to the sudden movements. God, his head hurts.

Bucky’s so beautiful, even when he looks absolutely murderous. His usual scowl is on his face, but it’s darker somehow as his red eyes meet Steve’s. He looks menacing, every bit the Alpha werewolf that constantly lurks beneath his skin. But he looks at Steve like he doesn’t know _where_ to look. Behind the fire in his eyes, there’s concern. Heartbreak. Anguish. Distress. He’s looking at Steve like the sight of him, so hurt and broken, is the most harrowing thing he’s ever seen. And he looks so incredibly pissed that Steve can’t hide his full body shudder.

The second thing, Steve realizes belatedly, is that behind Bucky, a door is completely caved in on itself, like Bucky completely ripped it off its hinges with just the force of pushing it open. The door looks like it’s made of metal, and Steve heard the heavy clang of it when Rumlow pushed it open. It’s not supposed to break like that, but Bucky’s completely demolished it.

Then everything catches up to him. Rumlow at his back. Bucky being here, where Rumlow is going to try to kill him. Steve’s relief quickly fizzles out inside him. Panic completely overtakes him.

“Bucky!” he tries to scream, but Rumlow’s claws dig in harder, and Steve gasps in pain. He pushes past the fire. “You can’t be here! Turn around! Leave!”

Bucky’s eyes run over Steve’s neck, at Rumlow’s claws in his throat, and he growls so loudly it makes Steve’s heart stop. He takes a step forward.

“No! No! Bucky, please!” Steve shouts, his voice so strained he doesn’t even know if his words are coming out right. “Turn around! Leave!”

The tears in his eyes fall, but Steve doesn’t care. Bucky _can’t_ be here.

“He’s going to kill you!” Steve tries again, and another groan of pain tears itself from his throat when Rumlow yanks harshly at where he’s keeping Steve pressed close to him. “Please,” he pants, a wet plea. _“Turn around.”_

Bucky doesn’t move, just looks at Steve with so much pain in his eyes that Steve’s entire body feels weighted down from it. Steve feels an excruciating ache in his chest, and he can’t breathe. There’s too much pressure againt him, and he blinks helplessly against the scattering of black in his vision again.

Rumlow stills his hand against Steve’s neck, and Steve bites back a whimper when the tiniest bit of air flows into his lungs.

“What took you so long?” Rumlow asks behind Steve, and now that his claws aren’t moving against Steve’s trachea anymore, Steve can feel the blood running down his neck from the protruding wounds. He’s probably bleeding somewhere else, too. He can’t move his head to check.

Bucky growls so deep and animalistic that Rumlow’s hands on him seem to tighten in slight fear. “Let him go,” Bucky snarls, taking another step forward. He can’t get to Rumlow without risking the chance of Rumlow killing Steve. The thought makes Steve feel like he’s short of breath.

“Bucky, _please,”_ Steve says, and it’s barely coherent as the words tumble past his lips.

Bucky’s eyes snap to him, and his entire face contorts into fury as he looks straight into Steve’s eyes. He snarls again.

“This is between you and me, Rumlow. You want my territory? _Let him go_ ,” Bucky growls as his hands clench into fists. Steve watches as the blood pools below Bucky’s feet as his claws sink into his palms.

Bucky looks so scared. He’s in a fighting stance, but he can’t keep his eyes on Rumlow, the biggest threat to him in the room. His eyes keep moving over Steve’s body, like he’s trying valiantly to assess Steve’s injuries and find the best way to get to him.

Steve can’t take it. Bucky’s not even worried about himself. He’s trying to get Steve out of here, even though it puts himself into a direct line of fire.

Rumlow knows it, too. His grip on Steve tightens, and Steve knows he won’t be able to get out of it unless Rumlow lets him go. It’s deliberate, the way Rumlow’s got Steve trapped in front of him. Steve knows that the only thing that’s stopping Bucky from attacking Rumlow is the fact that Steve’s between them.

 _You’re the one person I can’t live without_ , Bucky had said to him almost a week ago. _And I’m afraid he’s going to use you against me._

Steve feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest.

“Where’s the fun in letting him go, huh?” Rumlow says callously, and even though Steve can’t see him, he knows that Rumlow’s got that cocky smirk on his face. “You wouldn’t want him to miss out on this, would you?”

“You want me to accept your challenge?” Bucky bites out, growling. A shudder rips through his torso. “Let him go. I’ll give you my territory if you let him go.” He snarls again. “He’s got nothing to do with this, Rumlow.”

“He has _everything_ to do with this,” Rumlow hisses back, and his claws dig further into Steve’s trachea. Steve yells in pain. Bucky’s eyes snap back to him, and he snarls at the sound of Steve's pain. He looks as if his head might explode from hearing the way Steve screams. “Your love for him will be your undoing,” Rumlow continues, and the iciness in his voice has Steve cowering from where he’s still pressed harshly against him in fear.

Bucky’s eyes meet Steve’s again, and they’re horror-struck as his entire body tenses. The bleakness of his red eyes is haunting as he growls.

“How weak do you think it makes you,” Rumlow asks him, laughing harshly, “that your only weakness is a trivial little _human?_ Look at the way he’s trembling, Bucky.” Steve thrashes, and Rumlow laughs again. “Can’t you see how scared he is for you?”

Bucky takes another step forward at the same time that Rumlow moves the hand he’s got bracketing Steve’s hands behind his back to Steve’s broken arm and grips it harshly. Steve howls in agony. Bucky’s entire face pales, and he stills his movements, his face pulled down in devastation.

“Stop it,” Bucky hisses, but it comes out as a wrecked plea. His breathing is uneven from what Steve can hear of it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

“He smells so sweet,” Rumlow continues, running his nose right along the side of Steve’s neck, over his pulse point, as Steve desperately tries not to shake. He inhales deeply, and a laugh bubbles up in his throat. “How can you even stop yourself from pouncing on him when he smells this _good?_ The things I could do to him. . .”

Bucky’s snarl is fierce as it echoes off the walls, and Rumlow pulls his head away from Steve’s neck quickly, almost like the movement is involuntary. He can’t seem to fight how his wolf reacts to an Alpha in its presence.

Bucky notices it, too. “Let him go. _Now_.” His voice is commanding, and Steve’s mildly surprised when Rumlow’s hands seem to hesitate on his body. After a few seconds, Rumlow shakes himself a little, and the pressure is back on Steve’s skin in full force.

“The way he shakes is so. . .interesting,” Rumlow says after a moment, chuckling again as he ignores Bucky’s order. Bucky bristles. “I’ve been fascinated with the way humans react to me since I was bitten. Their scents, their tells. Do you want to know what Steve’s body is telling me now, Bucky?”

Bucky scowls at him, disgusted as his breathing goes ragged. Steve wants to turn around and punch that smirk off of Rumlow’s face.

“He’s _terrified,”_ Rumlow laughs. “Can’t you smell his fear?”

Steve can see how Bucky’s trying not to react, but the growl he emits is entirely feral as he shakes with rage.

“I’ve wondered for the past few weeks what it would be like when I’d finally encountered you,” Rumlow continues as Bucky snarls. Steve stills against Rumlow’s hands. “The Alpha of New York City. There are stories about you, you know. You’ve got quite the reputation. The big bad wolf everyone is so afraid of, alone in the world after he let his entire family die.” Steve’s heart stops as Bucky’s entire face recoils. No matter how strong Bucky is, his family will always be the one the thing he’s most vulnerable about. “We’re alike, you and me. I got tired of being alone, too. I just had to see what was so special about an Alpha without a pack. Surely, it wasn’t by choice,” Rumlow laughs sardonically. “When I got here, I had no idea where to start looking. Imagine my surprise when three weeks into my search, I accompany my mentor to a routine police interview, where I smell your abhorrent scent all over a _human_. And my good old Captain no less.”

Weeks. Rumlow has been in Bucky’s territory for _weeks_. And they all had no idea.

“It was easy after that,” Rumlow says, his voice like venom. “I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to scent him. It came as a bit of surprise, sure, when I realized who he was. And then I realized _what_ he was.”

Bucky tenses, and the scowl on his face pinches even tighter.

“What kind of Alpha,” Rumlow says, chuckling, “can’t even protect his own mate?”

Bucky loses it. The snarl in his throat is absolutely deadly as he lunges, but Rumlow just yanks Steve back, and suddenly, canines are at his throat.

“Take another step and I’ll bite him,” Rumlow hisses. “Good luck having a mate who despises you.”

Bucky stills again, his entire body coming to an abrupt stop. His eyes are frantic as he bares his teeth threateningly, but he doesn’t move. He looks _terrified,_ completely frozen as he watches Rumlow. His muscles are bunched up uncomfortably tight against his skin as he desperately tries to hold himself back. It must be taking everything in him not to move forward to rip Rumlow apart.

 _I couldn’t risk you_ , Bucky’s words invade his mind again. Bucky can’t move without the possibility of letting Rumlow bite Steve.

“Get in the circle,” Rumlow growls at him, slurred slightly through his canines. The teeth at Steve’s throat are insistent over his pulse point, and Steve tries to move away, but Rumlow just clutches his throat tighter. Steve can’t do _anything_.

Bucky doesn’t move. Steve can see the way he’s fuming behind his terror, a deep rumble in his chest as he tries to fight back another growl. _Please run away_ , Steve thinks desperately. _Please._

“Get in the circle or I will snap his neck,” Rumlow says menacingly, and his canines are no longer at Steve’s throat as he brings both arms to cage Steve's head between them, one over Steve’s throat and one bracing behind Steve’s head. He pushes, and Steve’s eyes widen. Rumlow is going to kill him.

“Stop!” Bucky yells, the growl tumbling out of his throat with an abrupt shriek. “Please! Don’t!”

“Get in the circle,” Rumlow repeats as his arm pushes harder against Steve’s throat. Steve thrashes against him, but his vision blacks out again. He feels himself start to slump against Rumlow’s body.

Steve’s helpless to watch through his blurry vision as Bucky snarls again, quickly stepping towards the circle with a menacing glare. His entire body starts sizzling as his flesh begins to burn when he steps over the invisible barrier. He releases a low, agonizing groan as he completely moves into the small space, and the sound of it makes Steve’s heart sink with dread. Bucky harshly rips himself from the invisible barrier, and almost immediately, his skin starts to knit itself back together. Bucky’s eyes meet Steve’s, and he looks at him, agonized, and takes a shuddering breath.

He’s trapped.

Rumlow releases Steve suddenly, and Steve abruptly braces himself against the concrete with his good arm. He coughs and coughs, then proceeds to vomit all over the concrete in front of him. There’s nothing in his stomach, but the bile rises in his throat, and Steve heaves and heaves against the floor beneath him.

His entire body trembles from the pain.

Rumlow moves away from him with a disgusted noise, but Steve can’t focus on him as he works to catch his breath. The foul taste in his mouth does nothing to distract him from the aching throb of his body.

Steve looks up quickly even though another wave of nausea hits him, and his eyes immediately find Bucky’s, who's looking at him with such sorrow that Steve feels another round of tears spill over his cheeks.

“Bucky,” he says brokenly, gasping and wheezing. He can’t say anything else.

“It’s okay,” Bucky says quietly to him, the first words he’s said to Steve since he’d entered the warehouse only moments ago. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“You promised,” Steve gasps out despite the fire in his throat, his chest, his entire body. Another tear escapes his eye. _You promised you wouldn’t die for me._

“I heard you scream,” Bucky says softly, staring morosely as Steve struggles to take in air.

Steve can’t hold back his sob.

“So dramatic,” Rumlow says from somewhere to Steve’s right, and it’s hard for Steve to rip his eyes away from Bucky, but he watches as Rumlow walks closer to the circle of wolfsbane. Bucky snarls at him, and Rumlow grins.

He moves his hand to the small of his back, where he pulls out Steve’s gun. Steve eyes it as Rumlow brings it up close to his face to examine it.

“That’s not going to do anything to me,” Bucky tells him harshly, his brooding face pulled into another scowl.

Rumlow gives him a smirk. “You wanna bet?”

Steve watches as Rumlow cocks the gun, pulls it away from his face, and shoots Bucky right in the stomach.

Steve gasps brokenly when Bucky stumbles back, the sound of sizzling flesh heavy in his ears as Bucky’s back grazes up against the barrier of the wolfsbane circle. Steve struggles to stand up, his entire body trembling as everything screams at him to move, but he collapses against the concrete as more tears blur his vision. “No!” he screams, sobbing.

The sound of Bucky's sharp inhale has him looking back to Bucky’s body, where he’s clutching at his side in agony as dark red blood seeps between his fingers. Steve thinks he might pass out from the anguish that courses through him at the sight.

“Wolfsbane bullets,” Bucky hisses between his teeth, his eyes flickering briefly between glowing red and his normal gray. His entire face is screwed up in pain, but he takes another deep breath, then yanks his shirt up and starts prodding at the wound. A second later, he pulls the bullet out of the hole in his stomach and lets it drop between his fingertips. Black smoke leaks from the wound, and it doesn’t start to heal like Steve expected it to. More blood squelches as it starts to pool at his feet.

“Do you like them?” Rumlow asks, his grin absolutely wicked. “I borrowed them. I’ve never seen them in action before.”

Bucky snarls.

“That wound looks nasty,” he continues, flashing his electric blue eyes. Bucky bares his canines threateningly in response, and Rumlow seems to pause slightly before he looks away quickly. He aims the gun towards Bucky’s leg, and another piercing shot echoes through the room as Bucky howls painfully.

“Stop it!” Steve shouts over his tears. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Rumlow just cocks the gun again, ignoring Steve as he smirks at Bucky.

“Please,” Steve wheezes, panting. “Me! Kill — Kill _me!_ _Please._ I’ll do whatever you want. Just stop hurting him!”

“No,” Bucky growls, glaring at Rumlow even though his growl is directed at Steve. Rumlow’s cocky smirk widens as he aims the gun at Bucky’s stomach again. Another shot echoes through the room, and Bucky howls in agony as he keels over slightly.

Steve clenches his eyes shut. The sound of Bucky’s pain is too much for him to bear. His entire body convulses on another sob.

In front of him, Rumlow continues taunting Bucky indistinctly. Steve can’t get the sound of Bucky’s howls out of his ears enough to focus on what he’s saying. He turns onto his back and has to clench his teeth to stop himself from blacking out as more spots scatter through his vision. The entire room starts to fade as he feels his eyes start to close again. He snaps them open quickly, heaving in another breath. _Focus_.

A quick glance towards the circle of wolfsbane shows him that Bucky’s bullet wounds still aren’t healing, and the amount of blood surrounding him tells Steve that Bucky’s steadily starting to bleed out. He needs to do something now before they both end up dead. Bucky’s leg is also bleeding profusely, and he looks pale as sweat starts to gather on his forehead.

Wolfsbane is harmful to werewolves. That much he knows. Since the bullets are laced with wolfsbane or have wolfsbane in them, Steve guesses that it’s starting to slowly poison Bucky’s bloodstream. And he’s not healing. Bucky’s going to need medical attention quickly if he doesn't start healing soon.

There are four casings at Bucky’s feet, so at some point in the last minute, Rumlow has shot Bucky again. Steve can’t hear anything, and his head is pounding. It’s probably not a good sign, but he can’t concentrate enough to think about what he’s supposed to be hearing.

He takes another deep breath, and it’s wet and awful and his chest hurts, but he tries to steady himself and think. Wolfsbane is harmful to werewolves. He has a small amount of wolfsbane in his pocket. Rumlow is a werewolf. If Steve can somehow get the wolfsbane into Rumlow’s system, it might make him pause enough to allow Bucky to defend himself.

His effort will be useless if Bucky remains trapped inside the wolfsbane circle. There’s got to be a reason it's keeping Bucky trapped. Steve can’t fight against Rumlow by himself, not long enough to get them both out of here. Maybe if he breaks the seal of the circle, Bucky might be able to get out.

It’s not his brightest idea, but Steve really can’t think about it much longer. He can’t think past his fear and anger. The blood pool at Bucky’s feet is growing. Steve’s vision is going black again. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the negatives. If he doesn’t do something now, they’ll both die. If he fails, they’ll die either way.

Steve takes another deep breath as panic lances through him. His entire body protests at his movements, but he forces his good arm to start digging around his breast pocket. Why did he put his wolfsbane in such an inconvenient place? The angle is awkward as he stifles through the pocket with his good arm, but he feels his fingertips run over the small herb, and he tries to quickly pry it from the pocket, but his movements are slow and unsteady. He ends up crushing it as he pulls the herb out, and he inhales deeply and chokes on another wheeze when he feels the small pieces break apart in his hand.

Bucky’s gaze snaps to him quickly at the sound of his wheezing, and he doesn’t look good. _His face is pale — too pale_ , Steve thinks. His eyes keep flickering in and out of his usual glowing red and gray, and he’s panting from the poison in his veins. Steve can tell that his strength is rapidly diminishing.

Bucky quickly darts his eyes to Steve’s hand, and his nose wrinkles like it had the first time he’d shown the herb to Steve. Comprehension takes over his face, and he turns back to Rumlow with a practiced smirk despite his hollow eyes.

“Is that all you got?” Bucky growls, even though it falls slightly flat. “It’s going to take a lot more than wolfsbane bullets to take me down.”

The effect on Rumlow is immediate. He growls and bares his teeth in a useless show of strength, aiming the gun again and firing. Bucky moves the second Rumlow aims, and the bullet misses him by a hair’s length before he’s smirking again.

He’s trying to distract Rumlow, Steve realizes, so that he doesn’t pay attention to what Steve’s trying to do. Steve belatedly thinks that Bucky’s read his mind, like how Rumlow had been able to read Steve’s dream — _projecting_ , he’d called it — before he shakes his head and squares his shoulders, trying to focus.

Bucky’s hurt. Rumlow is _hurting_ him. Trying to _kill_ him. And now. . .

Now, it isn’t anger or fear that begins to pour through Steve, but something ancient, and alive, and so vicious that it completely hones Steve’s focus into razor-sharp determination.

It takes every ounce of energy he can muster, but Steve’s able to push past the screaming pain and the wave of lightheadedness enough to stand. He crushes the wolfsbane in his hand again, trying to break it apart into even smaller pieces.

He takes a timid step forward, and he’s overcome with vertigo as he tries to keep himself upright. He tries not to think about what the pain erupting over his entire body means.

Steve takes another step forward.

He goes completely unnoticed by Rumlow. Bucky doesn’t look at him as he continues trying to taunt Rumlow, telling him that he’s weak and that Bucky will always be stronger than he is. He tells Rumlow that he’s a coward and a traitor for trying to take a territory he knows nothing about. He snarls that he’ll rip Rumlow’s head off if he touches Steve again. He growls that Rumlow should have left when he could’ve.

“I will tear you apart limb from limb,” Steve hears Bucky snarl at him, and this time, his menacing tone does seem to make Rumlow cower slightly. “And then, when you’re a writhing mass of blood and flesh, I’ll rip your heart from your chest.”

Rumlow growls and Steve stumbles. Even with Rumlow’s enhanced reflexes and wolfy hearing, he doesn’t notice that Steve’s now standing directly in front of him. He looks confused to see Steve, like he’s shocked, but Steve doesn’t hesitate as he brings his hand up to Rumlow’s face and harshly pushes the wolfsbane into his eyes.

The sound of something burning fizzles in Steve’s ears, and they both tumble to the floor with the impact of Steve pushing into Rumlow. Rumlow howls in pain at the same time Steve cries out. His body is finally starting to give out on him. He doesn’t have anything left in him to move.

Rumlow scratches at his eyes as Steve rolls onto his back, coughing wretchedly as his entire body is overcome with tremors. He heaves again, but nothing comes up his throat.

Before Steve can move again, Rumlow is on top of him, and the sound of sizzling flesh echoes in his ears as both of Rumlow’s hands wrap around Steve’s throat. Steve chokes as he frantically struggles, looking up at Rumlow. He feels his eyes widen even as his airway is cut off and panic lurches in his stomach at the sight of Rumlow’s eyes. They’re still electric blue, but they’re badly burned, sweltered completely. It looks like acid was poured into them. Steve doesn’t even know if Rumlow can actually _see_.

“Steve!” he hears Bucky yell in front of him, and Steve thrashes against Rumlow’s hands. Rumlow bares his canines at him and growls, and Steve can’t get any air into his lungs.

Frantically, he tries to glance towards Bucky, but Bucky’s still trapped, pounding on the invisible barrier of the wolfsbane circle as his hands burn and swelter with every impact. Steve puts everything he has left into moving, and he knows there’s nothing left in him, but he has to try anyway. Bucky’s bleeding out in that circle, and Steve can feel lightheadedness overtaking him as the darkness at the edges of his vision begins to take over.

Abruptly, Rumlow wrenches Steve’s good arm away from his body and, still keeping a hand on his throat, brings Steve’s wrist up to his mouth and bites down hard. The most agonizing pain overtakes him as he screams, and he struggles against Rumlow’s teeth, desperate to get him off.

He thrashes once more, and the heel of his dress shoe scrapes over the powder of the circle at the same time Bucky completely wolfs out in his growing panic. His face screws up in a snarl as his eyes glow the brightest red Steve has ever seen before. His wolf ears elongate. He becomes distinctly more and more hairy as the features of his face turn animalistic. He releases a piercing growl, and when Steve moves his foot again and completely breaks the seal of the wolfsbane circle, Rumlow’s hand is torn from his throat, the teeth at his wrist are gone, and the sudden weight lifted off of him has Steve gasping in air.

Steve barely has time to glance towards where Bucky has yanked Rumlow off of him, still looking so pale and so tired, before Bucky starts to literally tear Rumlow apart. His claws glint dangerously in the light of the fluorescents as he slashes at Rumlow’s black t-shirt, now completely torn into ribbons from the ferocity of Bucky’s rage.

“Please,” Steve can hear Rumlow start to beg over the rushing of blood in his ears, and the sound of his voice, broken and wet, has something vicious curling in Steve’s stomach as Steve writhes in pain on the floor. Fire erupts over his entire body, and he pants harshly. Rumlow repeats himself over and over while Bucky slashes and punches and bites and chokes him. Rumlow doesn’t stop pleading until Bucky wraps one hand around his throat, digs his claws in, and smashes his head onto the concrete.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as he leans in dangerously close to Rumlow’s throat and snarls so deeply the sound of it makes Steve’s head hurt. Bucky doesn’t make another sound before he sinks his canines into the meat of Rumlow’s throat as Rumlow whimpers helplessly, and without a moment’s hesitation, he rips Rumlow’s entire throat out with his teeth.

The pain of Rumlow’s bite completely whites out Steve’s vision, and Steve knows he’s crying from the agony of it. The tears are hot on his cheeks as he writhes and desperately tries to take in air. It’s the worst pain he’s ever felt.

The last thing he sees is the blood on Bucky’s canines before he feels himself completely fade away.

 _I love you_ , he thinks distantly as he closes his eyes and lets the darkness consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers from warning: A character is repeatedly involved in instances of assault, including being involved in an assault that causes bodily harm, beatings, and is choked frequently. A character is shot, but that does not go too in depth with this chapter. These violent depictions are described throughout this chapter. If you find these topics to be a trigger, please read with caution. 
> 
> Please don't hate me! I promise we've got some resolutions and some answers coming up! This story does end with a happy ending! 
> 
> Rumlow is a dick, and I will forever stand by that. 
> 
> I love reading all of your theories in the comments, and I'm not going to say too much, but some of you are definitely on the right track! 
> 
> For your reading enjoyment, I listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-T5eYF9WiRI) while writing this entire chapter.
> 
> See you guys in a few days!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back a day early with chapter 15! The last chapter was pretty brutal, but I promise it's pretty much smooth sailing (kind of!) from here on out. Thank you so much to everyone who continues to leave all of your wonderful praises! It makes me so excited that you guys love this story as much as I do! 
> 
> To all of my regular commenters, you guys are seriously the best. I love reading everyone's comments so much!!!
> 
> This chapter is one of my favorites, and I can't wait for you all to read! We're nearing the end, (I know! I'm sad, too!) and these last three updates are definitely the best (in my totally non biased opinion, lmao).
> 
> Here's to chapter 15! Enjoy!

_“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.” — Emily Brontë_

_“I need to tell you something,” Steve says, lifting his head off of Bucky’s chest. He swallows around his dry tongue, taking a deep breath._

_Bucky brings his hand up from where he’s been idly rubbing at Steve’s back to run his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, tilting his head to the side with a confused smile._

_“Okay,” he says, looking into Steve’s eyes. His smile quickly turns into a frown when Steve looks away from him and takes another steadying breath._

_Steve’s eyes nervously dart out of the window next to Bucky’s bed, out towards the New York skyline. The sun’s beginning to set over the skyscrapers, and the pink and orange of the clouds momentarily makes Steve pause._

“You’re okay, Steve. You’re okay.”

_They’ve both been enjoying Steve’s day off together, lounging around Bucky’s apartment. They haven’t left Bucky’s bed for hours, not since Bucky had made them breakfast that morning. Steve had even spent the night last night after he’d finished his shift at the precinct. They rarely ever spend their nights apart anymore. There are parts of Steve mingled in with Bucky all over Bucky’s apartment; his toothbrush is placed in a holder right next to Bucky’s; the ugly mug Sam had bought him last Christmas is nestled inside a cabinet in Bucky’s kitchen; his favorite pair of sweatpants are currently resting on the floor across from Bucky’s bed. He has his own drawer in Bucky’s dresser. There’s space in Bucky’s closet that’s full of Steve’s clothes. His favorite shampoo and conditioner sit beside Bucky’s in Bucky’s attached bathroom. He’s in Bucky’s space, in Bucky’s bed. The only thing that’s missing is the one thing that’s been hanging over Steve’s head for weeks now._

_He needs to say it. He needs to get the words out. He can feel them caught in his throat, right on the tip of his tongue. Today, of all days, while he’s lying in Bucky’s bed with Bucky’s arms around him — so safe and secured and_ loved _— he’s finally realized that it’s the right time to say it. There’s no denying how serious their relationship is now. Bucky is easily one of the most important persons in Steve’s life. They practically live together. He can’t keep these words in any longer._

 _“I’m worried that you’re going to freak out,” Steve admits after a full minute of silence passes, still resolutely staring out the window. He knows he probably smells nervous now and that his heart is beating way too fast. He_ has _to get these words out. He wants to say them, but he’s afraid of how Bucky will react. He_ knows _Bucky, now. He knows how Bucky thinks. It’s entirely possible that Bucky will shut Steve out once he hears those words, or that he’ll start to close himself off again. Steve doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it if Bucky were to shut him out again. Not after everything they’ve told each other._

 _Bucky gently cradles Steve’s face in his hands, slowly turning Steve’s head so that their eyes meet again and gives him an encouraging smile. “You can tell me anything,” he says, rubbing both of his thumbs over Steve’s jaw. “I promise I won’t freak out.”_

_Steve exhales a disbelieving chuckle. “I don’t know if you should make that promise.”_

“I’m going to make it stop hurting, baby, I promise.”

_“You’re stalling,” Bucky says, smiling as he leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. “I’m not taking it back, Stevie, so tell me. I promise I’m not going to freak out, baby."_

_His smile widens and Steve feels his heart swell. He takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly out through his nostrils._

_“I’m in love with you,” Steve tells him quietly, staring right into Bucky’s eyes. It’s silent for a moment, the words hanging between them as if they’re stagnant in the air. Abruptly, Bucky’s thumbs freeze against his face, and Steve feels him suck in a startling breath, like the words are a knife twisting right into his heart._

_Steve pulls his face away from Bucky’s hands and places a soothing kiss on top of Bucky’s naked sternum, gently saying, “You’re freaking out.”_

_“I’m not freaking out,” Bucky replies, his voice strained._

“I love you. You’re going to be fine. Hold on, baby. _Please_ hold on.”

_Steve reaches his hand up and grabs one of Bucky’s hands, entwining their fingers together. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s knuckles, holding his gaze as he waits for Bucky to process what he’s saying, for him to understand what Steve’s words mean._

_“Okay,” Bucky says after a few tense minutes pass. “Maybe I_ am _freaking out.” Bucky looks down at him with wide eyes, and Steve can’t hold back a knowing smile as he soothingly runs the fingers of his opposite hand over Bucky’s heart. “You’re in love with me?” Bucky asks quietly, his breathing ragged. Steve nods slowly, giving Bucky a soft smile, and Bucky inhales shakily. “Steve. . .” he says, trailing off._

_“Can I tell you something else?” Steve asks, keeping his voice steady. Bucky exhales slowly and nods a tad shakily. “I think you might be in love with me, too.”_

_Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, and Steve tightens his fingers in between Bucky’s, giving him another soothing smile._

_“I see it in your eyes every time you look at me,” Steve continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I feel it in the way you touch me. In the way you make love to me.”_

_Bucky inhales sharply, tensing. His eyes widen even more as they start to glaze over. “Steve,” he repeats, his voice thick._

“Come back to me, baby.”

 _“I don’t expect you to say it back, Bucky,” Steve says quietly, rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s wrist. “I know you. I know that you’re afraid to fall in love. I knew you might freak out. But I wanted you to know how I feel, baby. I wanted you to know that I love you. I’m in love with every little thing about you.”_

_“I. . .” Bucky starts, taking a deep breath. He closes his eyes after a moment, inhaling deeply. Steve places another kiss on his sternum._

_It’s quiet for a while. Steve just lays his head on Bucky’s chest and listens to the panicked beating of Bucky’s heart. He’s mildly surprised that Bucky hasn’t asked him to move so that he can run off and gather his thoughts. Bucky likes doing that when he gets stressed._

_“I feel like — ” Bucky says, cutting himself off with a frustrated growl._

_“Like what, baby?” Steve asks him encouragingly, kissing right above Bucky’s heart._

_“Like I’m so messed up inside that hearing my boyfriend tell me that he loves me literally makes me freak out,” Bucky says, sighing deeply and bringing his hand up to cup the back of Steve’s neck._

_“Bucky. . .” Steve says softly, frowning._

_“I don’t want to be freaked out,” Bucky says, shaking his head._

_“Okay,” Steve says easily, nodding. “Let’s talk about it, sweetheart. What’s making you freak out?”_

_Bucky closes his eyes, exhaling shakily again. “I convinced myself a long time ago that I wasn’t worthy of love. You know that. I never thought I could feel like this before. It’s. . .hard to explain how I feel. I. . .” he trails off, swallowing audibly. “I’m messed up. I’m not — not_ put together _. I feel like I might be broken. But I’m in love with you, and when I look at you, I feel like I can’t_ breathe. _Like I’m. . .dying. You don’t look at me like I’m broken. You_ see _me. You look at me like I’m_ worth _something. But If I let myself love you. . .if I let myself fall even deeper for you. . .you’ll get pulled into all of my problems, Steve. You might decide that I’m not worth it after all.”_

 _“Bucky — ”_

_“I don’t want you to regret loving me. If this is a mistake — ” Bucky inhales sharply. “If you changed your mind, or. . .decided to leave me or —_ something _, I think my heart might break. I have all of this ugliness inside of me, Steve. I don’t want that ugliness to ruin you, too. It’s taken me awhile to accept that part of me, to know that it’s a part of me that I don’t know will ever go away. I can’t ask you to accept that, too. I’ve known for a while that I was in love with you, but I’m afraid to love you. The people I love always get taken away from me. I feel like. . .like maybe I’m cursed. I won’t survive it if I lose you, too. I won’t let my love drag you down. I can’t do that to you. And I can’t wake up one morning and watch you leave me when you decide that all of my ugliness is too much for you.”_

 _“Bucky. . .” Steve says, leaning up completely. He feels a tear escape his eye, and he sniffles as he cups Bucky’s face with his other hand, tightening his fingers with Bucky’s. “There is_ nothing _about you that is ugly. You’re so amazing, Bucky. You’ve had horrible things happen to you. You’ve lived through unimaginable things. But you’re so strong, sweetheart. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. I will_ never _leave you. I see all of you, Bucky. Every part. Every piece. And there is not one part of you that I don’t love with my entire heart.”_

_Bucky’s face crumbles as tears well in his eyes, and he pulls Steve forward, crashing their lips together. Their tears mingle together as they kiss, but Steve doesn’t care. It’s one of the best kisses they’ve ever had._

_“I love you,” Steve says when they part, his voice thick._

“I love you so much. Baby, _please_ come back to me.”

_“I love you, too,” Bucky breathes, sniffling. He pulls Steve down again, and everything fades away as their lips meet once more._

—

Steve gets flashes of things as he passes in and out of consciousness. Bucky carrying him. Wind rippling through his hair. The emergency room. Doctors and nurses swarming around him. Sam crying. Bucky crying. There isn’t much after that, though, when he hears the sounds of Bucky’s sobs.

He sleeps. He dreams. His dreams turn to nightmares of blood and teeth and glowing blue eyes after he dreams about the first time he told Bucky he loved him. He sees bright lights at one point and thinks he’s dying. The sound of Bucky’s howls echo in his ears until he thinks he passes out again.

He doesn’t wake up.

Sounds filter over him sometimes. The steady rhythm of a heart monitor near his ear. Overlapping voices of a few nurses. And, at some point, a conversation between Sam and Bucky.

“ — and he’s _alive_ , Bucky,” Sam’s voice is saying quietly. His voice is raspy, like he’s been screaming. Steve hears him sniffle, and there’s a pause.

“Barely,” he hears Bucky reply, and his voice is absolutely _wrecked_. The raw hurt and anguish in his deep tenor makes Steve’s heart clench. It’s so broken and raspy that Steve doesn’t know how it reaches his ears.

The heart monitor beeps loudly in the silence.

“You got him out, man,” Sam reminds him softly. Another sniffle.

“He was scared of me,” Bucky says, a whisper so quiet that Steve’s ears have to strain to hear it. The rest of his body doesn’t move. “I scared him.”

“You saved him,” Sam says resolutely. “He might have just been scared of Rumlow, man. Maybe you can ask him when he wakes up.”

“He’s been through hell,” Bucky replies, sniffling. “He needs all the sleep he can get.”

It’s quiet for a long time after that, and Steve’s not sure if he slips into another dream. He doesn’t move. The heart monitor continues to beep steadily.

“Sometimes,” Bucky says into the silence jarringly, his voice strained. “I think that maybe Steve may have been better off if he’d hadn’t met me.”

“Don’t say that, Bucky,” Sam says sharply.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, Sam,” Bucky replies hoarsely, a tad harsh. “He’s given up so much for me. He risked his job to destroy my DNA samples, Sam. That was almost four years ago. He didn’t even _know_ me.” Another sniffle. “He lied to you about what I was for months. He’s constantly dealing with all of the shit I bring to him — my possessiveness, my fucking lack of control. I hate that he’s had to do all of this stuff for me. He almost _died_ , Sam. Rumlow almost _killed_ him. He risked his _life_ for me. How could I possibly still believe that being with me is something that’s good for him anymore?”

“Don’t do that,” Sam tells him. “Don’t make decisions for him. You didn’t hurt him, Bucky. Rumlow did. No one could have seen this coming, man. Not even you. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I put him in danger, Sam,” Bucky says, and his voice is so broken, so full of emotion that Steve feels his chest tighten painfully. “I’m the reason he’s here.”

“You’re the reason he’s _alive,_ Bucky. If you hadn’t of done what you did — ”

Bucky laughs bitterly. “I shouldn’t have even had to do it. I shouldn’t have let myself get trapped.” He pauses. “Seeing Rumlow bite him. . .” he trails off, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s not even the worst part. Not seeing him on the floor, writhing in pain. Not hearing him beg me to leave him so that Rumlow would hurt him instead of me. Not thinking that I was too late. I’ll carry the sounds of his screams with me for the rest of my life. But the worst part?” He inhales sharply, and the breath he releases is thick and shaky. “The worst part was knowing that he was still trying to save _me_ , even as I stood trapped and unable to _fight_ for him, to save _him_. Even as Rumlow choked him so hard I thought his neck was going to snap.”

“Bucky. . .” Sam says quietly.

“I did that to him, Sam.”

“You know what else you’ve done?” Sam snaps harshly. “You put him back together. When he came back from whatever hell he went through in Afghanistan, he was a ghost, Bucky. I didn’t know how to help him. I didn’t know what to say to him. He finally started getting back to himself when we graduated from the academy. And then, not even a year into making detective, he meets you. You honestly think that’s a bad thing? Do you regret ever meeting him?”

Bucky says something, and it’s too low for Steve to hear, but the sound of his refusal is clear.

“Bucky, Steve loves you.” Sam says earnestly. “He’s so in love with you, man. I’ve never seen him look happier than he is when he’s with you.”

“I’m so in love with him that I don’t even know if there are words that could describe how I feel. He’s everything to me, Sam. When I lost my family. . . ” He pauses. “I thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life. I had all this anger inside me. I still do. And I just closed myself off to everyone. But when I met Steve — ” he cuts himself off. “He just. . . wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before. He was _beautiful_ , Sam. He wasn’t scared of me. And now he is.”

“Stop that,” Sam warns him. “You don’t know that, Bucky. Come on, man. Stop doing this to yourself. He needs you right now. He needs both of us right now. ”

Silence overtakes the room again, and Steve wishes he could open his eyes, but when he tries, nothing works.

“Fuck,” Bucky suddenly snarls, and the sound of ragged breathing reaches Steve’s ears as footsteps sound rapidly on the floor.

“Hey,” Sam says sternly but softly. “Come on, dude. You can’t wolf out right now. I know the moon’s at its apex, or — _whatever_ — right now, but you’ve got to fight it, man. I know you can do it. Take a deep breath.”

There’s a growl in Bucky’s throat when he grits out, “I’m _trying.”_

“Calm down,” Sam says soothingly. “Focus on Steve. Come on, man. Listen to his heart. Count his breaths. Focus.”

Bucky inhales sharply, and a rumble sounds through his chest as he continues to take in deep lungfuls of air. He starts to mimic Steve’s even breaths.

“There you go,” Sam tells him encouragingly, and Steve would give anything to be able to comfort Bucky right now, but when he tries to move, nothing happens.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly, and then a too-warm hand is being slipped into his good one, and Steve can hear how Bucky takes another steadying breath before he slowly starts to rub his thumb over Steve’s wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath Steve’s skin.

“Anytime, man,” Sam says, but everything fades away once more.

When he does finally wake up, Steve stumbles into consciousness with a start, sweat beginning to cool on his skin as he breathes harshly through the fading dreams of pain and sorrow. He tries to blink open his eyes, but they sting and burn, and he ends up squeezing them tightly instead.

He abruptly realizes that he’s got a tube down his throat, and he immediately starts panicking. He starts to swallow around it instinctively, trying to clear the intrusion, but he obviously can’t. He tries to lift his hands up to grab at it, but his arms are heavy and tremble unsteadily until they fall back onto a cotton blanket. His heart starts to race, his panic swelling, but then hands are at his shoulder and gently trying to steady him.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he hears, and Steve frantically focuses his blurry vision and blinks rapidly until it clears, and Sam’s sorrowful face comes into focus vividly. “Relax, Steve. Someone’s coming to get it out. You’re okay.”

Steve just stares back at him, gagging around the tube. He feels nauseous and like his skin’s on fire, but then Sam’s cool hand starts to soothingly run over his head, steady and gentle as a nurse suddenly appears on Steve’s other side.

The nurse reaches forward, and he fights back a flinch as she disconnects the bottom of the tube from a machine above his head, then quickly lays a gauze sheet on top of his chest and then gently pulls a piece of tape off of his mouth.

“Breathe out,” she tells him softly, and Steve complies, pushing a deep breath out of his mouth as she slowly removes the tube.

Once he’s no longer intubated, he takes a deep breath through the burn in his throat. He coughs almost immediately, and he becomes distinctly aware of how sore he is in every inch of his body. He groans a little, and the nurse bunches up the gauze sheet and the tube.

“You’re okay, honey,” she says kindly, giving him a sympathetic grin. “You’re in the hospital. I know that’s probably not the best way to wake up, but you’re safe. I’ll tell your RN that you're awake. Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll just be right outside,” she continues softly, and when Steve gives her a dazed nod, she leaves with a soft, reassuring smile.

A dull ache blooms over his chest as he moves slightly, but it’s not the burning pain he’d felt when he’d lost consciousness. There’s a building pressure at his head that radiates out towards the base of his neck, and he brings a hand up to gently rub at his throat, but his fingertips run over a few bandages when he makes contact with them.

His joints throb, and he belatedly realizes that his right arm is in a large brace all the way from his elbow to his wrist. He doesn’t feel anything when he looks at it, no pain or ache, and thinks that he’s probably got some kind of painkillers thrumming through his system.

Everything's a little fuzzy around the edges of his vision. It’s difficult to concentrate and he feels like there’s something else he should be doing. He’s missing something.

His eyes must have closed at some point, but when Sam runs his cool hand over Steve’s face again, he snaps them open and immediately squints against the harsh light slanting in through a window next to him before he blinks up at Sam’s worried face.

“Sam,” he croaks, trying to move himself into a better position. He realizes a few seconds too late that he’s still connected to tubes and wires at his arms and chest and falls back onto the bed slowly with a hurt sound.

“Hey, man,” Sam says easily, a false lightheartedness behind his voice that does nothing to hide his concern. He grabs a remote and lifts Steve’s bed up a little so he doesn’t have to strain himself. “Don’t try to move, buddy. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Steve groans as he stills himself, swallowing dryly. “What happened?” he asks after a moment, his throat raspy.

“A lot,” Sam says, quickly looking behind his shoulder before his eyes meet Steve’s again, and he gives him a small grin. “You want some water?”

Steve nods shakily, and Sam brings a cup with a bendy straw up to his lips. Steve takes a long drink of the water inside, then lets his head fall back on the pillow with another groan.

Sam eyes him with a sympathetic gaze. “How are you feeling, bud?” he asks softly, quiet.

“Hurts,” Steve replies. He’s not in that much pain, but his entire body feels like one giant bruise.

“Well, getting into a car accident and going a few rounds with a werewolf will do that to you,” Sam says as he sets the water down somewhere out of Steve’s periphery, and he’s trying to be teasing, Steve knows, but his voice sounds hollow and empty.

The reminder snaps through Steve abruptly, and he’s immediately trying to move again, relieved and scared all at once.

“Bucky,” he gasps out, clutching onto Sam’s hand. “Is he — where — ” he stutters out quickly.

“I’m right here,” Bucky’s voice washes over him, and he slowly makes his way over to Steve’s other side, and Steve’s entire body deflates when he sees Bucky’s face.

He doesn’t look as pale or sickly like the last time Steve had seen him. He’s wearing other clothes now, too — a long sleeve shirt and sweatpants. Steve’s relieved to see that he doesn’t seem like he’s in pain or that he’s hurt, but his eyes are pinched and puffy. He sniffles softly when he takes another step forward to Steve’s bed, but he doesn’t move any closer as he stares at Steve with morose eyes.

“Bucky,” Steve repeats, and tears well in his eyes unconsciously. God, Bucky’s _alive_.

Bucky just looks at him, and the expression on his face makes Steve pause. He doesn’t understand the way Bucky’s looking at him. His eyes are wary, like he doesn’t know what to do. _He’s scared_ , Steve realizes as he stares into Bucky’s eyes. _Terrified._

Bucky hesitates before speaking, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes still fearful. “Hey,” he says, the sound of his voice so soft and small. Hesitant, like he doesn’t want to scare Steve if he talks too loud.

“Are you — ” Steve tries, clearing his throat when his voice comes out as a croak again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky says, his entire face contorting into a pained expression despite his reassurance. “I’m okay, sweetheart.”

More tears start to fall from Steve’s eyes, and Bucky reaches out like he’s going to try to wipe them away before he tenses harshly. He rips his hand back, clenching it back into a fist.

“Sorry,” he says, paling. “You’re safe. I won’t touch you.”

The promise only makes Steve frown. He stares back, rasping, “What?”

“Sorry,” Bucky repeats, his voice sounding thick with emotion as he sniffles again. “I know you’re scared right now, but it’s over. No one is going to hurt you. I promise I won’t touch you. I won’t hurt you.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Steve asks him brokenly, his throat beginning to burn as more tears prickle his eyes. He blinks furiously, trying to take in a calming breath. “What’s wrong, Bucky? Why do you keep saying that?”

Bucky’s gray eyes meet his again, and he suddenly looks just as confused as Steve feels. “You’re not. . .” he trails off, swallowing before he continues. “You’re not scared of me?”

The sound of his voice, so heavy with emotion and anguish, has Steve almost sobbing in confusion.

 _“Scared of you?”_ he repeats, giving his own sniffle. “ _No!_ Why would I be scared of you?”

Bucky staggers forward then, and Steve immediately brings his good arm up to wrap it around Bucky’s neck. It’s like everything has suddenly culminated to this point, where the warmth of Bucky’s overheated skin meets his, and he’s the sun and the moon all at once, burning straight through Steve’s heart like a beacon only Steve can feel. He’s at once the night and the dawn and the stars and the earth, and every inch of Steve’s body calms when he feels Bucky’s steady pulse underneath his fingertips.

He buries his face in Bucky’s neck and cries.

“Steve,” Bucky says brokenly, his voice thick with tears. “Steve,” he repeats. “ _I’m so sorry._ ” His arms tighten around Steve, so soft and gentle.

Steve clings to him until he can feel air in his lungs again. He can’t move his right arm, but he moves his good hand up to wrap his fingers in Bucky’s hair and breathes in deeply through his nose. Bucky smells like antiseptic, and Steve thinks he hears a bandage crinkle when Bucky shifts to kiss the side of his head.

“Are you — ” Steve stutters, sniffling. “He shot you,” he suddenly remembers, pulling back so he can glance down at Bucky’s stomach. “He _shot_ you,” he repeats, his voice breaking. “Oh, my _God_ — ”

“I’m okay,” Bucky says quickly, his hands lightly cupping Steve’s face now. His thumbs stroke over Steve’s cheeks, wiping his tears away. “I’m healing. I am absolutely fine, baby, I promise.”

Steve feels a lump begin to form in his throat as he leans his forehead against Bucky’s, completely overwhelmed as he lets Bucky’s words sink in and settle into his head. Bucky’s okay. He’s alright. He’s _safe_.

Steve leans forward slightly, trying not to wince when a tube pulls uncomfortably at him, and Bucky quickly rushes down to meet him. When their lips meet, Steve feels his entire body relax. That telltale rush of relief washes over him, and at the very back of Steve’s mind, he thinks that Bucky might be taking his pain away through where he’s got his hands on either side of Steve’s face, but he’s still having trouble focusing. His head doesn’t feel too good, and he can’t think about anything past the confusion still jumbling his thoughts.

He pulls back but tightens his hand in Bucky’s hair. He doesn’t want Bucky to get too far away from him yet.

“Why did you think I would be scared of you?” he asks, insistent.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathes out, apologizing yet again as he shakes his head. “I — ” he hesitates, his voice quiet. Steve feels him tense slightly. “I ripped Rumlow apart right in front of you. He was — ” he cuts himself off again, inhaling sharply. “He was going to _kill_ you, and then he. . .” Bucky shakes his head, then looks into Steve’s eyes sorrowly. “I lost it. I was on him as soon as you broke the seal of that circle. But I never wanted you to see that. See _me_ like that. I mauled him. And the way you looked at me when I ran over to you. . .”

Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, like he’s picturing the look on Steve’s face. He shakes his head again.

“You looked _terrified._ And I could smell how scared you were. When you woke up just now, I just couldn’t see that look on your face again, so I stayed out of the way. I didn’t want you to look at me like you were scared I was going to hurt you,” he finishes, and Steve hates the way he looks so sad, like just the thought of Steve being afraid of him completely tears him apart.

Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes and shakes his head vehemently, pulling Bucky’s face back to his so he can lean their foreheads together. He thinks for a moment, about the hesitant way Bucky had approached him, about how fearful he’d looked. _You’re safe_ , Bucky had said, and Steve had thought he’d been talking about Rumlow. Bucky had been talking about _himself_.

“Bucky,” he breathes miserably, shaking his head again. “I’m not scared of you. I was never scared of you. I was scared _for_ you. You were bleeding out, and God, you looked so _pale_. And I couldn’t do anything to help you.”

“You saved me, baby,” Bucky says quietly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve’s in a chaste kiss. “You got me out. You saved us both.”

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding. He gives a soft chuckle, running his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone, even as his voice starts to break. “You can’t scare me off, Buck. I know exactly who you are. And I will _never_ be scared of you.”

Bucky falters against him, and then he’s burying his face in Steve’s hair and inhaling sharply, completely enveloping Steve in the warmth of his chest. A few more tears slip from his eyes, but Steve doesn’t care. He’s safe. Bucky’s safe. They’re _alive_.

He thinks that he maybe suddenly understands where Bucky’s coming from. Steve couldn’t exactly tell him that he was terrified that Bucky was going to bleed out in front of his eyes, not when he felt so weak and couldn’t even breathe over the searing pain erupting over his body.

God, the pain. He still remembers it so vividly. The white hot pinpricks that ran through his entire body as he writhed against the concrete. The sound of Rumlow’s pleas as Bucky ripped him apart. The darkness that overtook him as he desperately tried to tell Bucky that he loved him.

Before he can speak, though, another nurse walks purposefully into the room, and Bucky leans away quickly, keeping his hand on the back of Steve’s neck — scenting him — as the nurse glances at them with a practiced eye and then looks at the monitors over Steve’s head.

“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Rogers?” the nurse asks, arching an eyebrow at him. “Your heart rate is a little too high for my liking.”

Steve nods, trying not to blush, and the nurse draws his eyes away from the monitors to glance at Steve’s tubes and wires. “Sorry,” Steve says belatedly, wiping at his eyes. “I was just feeling a little anxious.”

“Would you like for me to get you some more pain medication?” The nurse asks, eyes briefly flickering towards Bucky. “It’s better for your body if you don’t get too stressed out; you need to rest.” The nurse waits, but Steve just shakes his head. “Okay,” he sighs. “Hit the call button when you’re ready.”

Steve nods at him and watches as the nurse gives Bucky a stern look, throws another anxious glance towards the machinery over Steve’s head, and leaves without another word.

Immediately, Bucky’s back on him, and Steve brings his hand up to pull Bucky’s face closer to his. He runs his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone soothingly, giving him a soft smile, before he runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky gives him a small grin, the fingers of his other hand lightly moving to rest on Steve’s jaw.

Steve tightens his fingers in Bucky’s hair, and a bandage on his wrist crinkles ominously. He removes his hand, glancing confusedly at his wrist as he turns it over to inspect it.

The bandage pulls at his skin, and Steve winces slightly. He doesn’t remember hurting this arm.

Suddenly, he feels his vision white out as he remembers Rumlow’s canines. How Rumlow had bitten into the skin of his wrist. And the excruciating pain almost immediately after.

“Am I — ” he starts to ask, and the heart monitor near his head starts to beep rapidly again. He tries to take a deep breath to calm himself down.

“No,” Bucky says forcefully, his brooding face pulled into a scowl. “You’re not. You’d be healing already if you were.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He should have realized he wasn’t in transition when he’d felt the ache in his body after he’d woken up. If he were beginning to shift into a werewolf, he wouldn’t be nearly as bruised as he is.

The thought makes something unravel in his chest.

“How?” he asks quietly, and for a second, Bucky’s eyes dart to Sam, who’s still standing on Steve’s other side, before he looks back at Steve with an unreadable look.

“I stopped it,” Bucky replies quietly, a slight grimace on his face. “I reversed the bite.”

“What?” Steve says quietly, his eyes widening. “Why?”

“ _Why?_ ” Bucky repeats warily, frowning.

“Why did you reverse it?” Steve clarifies, his head fuzzy. “If you hadn’t, I’d be just like you now.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly seem to turn flat black. “He forced the bite on you,” he says, glaring as he bites the words out. He clenches his jaw, infuriated. “He bit you against your will. It wasn’t his choice to make. I know you don’t want to be a werewolf, and I wasn’t going to let him turn you into one.”

Steve stares at him, silent.

“But more than that,” Bucky says, continuing as his voice wavers slightly. His eyes soften. “If I hadn’t stopped the shift, it would have. . .done something to us.”

“To _us?”_ Steve repeats, frowning. “To you and me? What do you mean?”

“It’s just. . .the place he bit you,” Bucky says, his cheeks beginning to color in embarrassment. “It — _means_ something to werewolves.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “What does it mean?”

“Baby,” Bucky says softly, shaking his head. “I want to tell you, I really do, but. . .”

“You’ve been through a lot, Steve,” Sam interrupts gently, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder comfortingly. “What Bucky’s trying to say is that he thinks you need to rest so you don’t stress yourself out, man. You really don’t need to worry about anything but healing right now. What he needs to tell you is probably something neither of you want to discuss when you’re in pain and where anyone can walk in and overhear.”

Steve looks up at him, furrowing his eyebrows. His face scrunches up in confusion. If Bucky’s worried about stressing him out with whatever it is he needs to tell Steve, maybe it has something to do with what he’d wanted to say at the ball, where he was nervous about how Steve would react.

Steve’s head is still fuzzy and muddled, and he’d forgotten amidst the pain and everything with Rumlow that Bucky had wanted to tell him something important after the masquerade. If he’s that scared of Steve’s reaction, maybe it _is_ something bad after all. And Sam seems to know exactly what Bucky’s not telling him. He frowns again.

“You need to get some rest, man,” Sam says before Steve can open his mouth. “You both do. Bucky’s putting on a brave face for you, Steve, but he’s still really weak.”

“Sam,” Bucky snaps, glaring.

“What?” Steve asks, panic lancing through him. He’d looked Bucky over to make sure he was okay, but he didn’t _really_ look at him. Now that he is, his heart beats painfully in his chest. Bucky still looks deathly pale, like he’s seconds away from keeling over. When Steve grips Bucky’s wrist, Bucky’s still hot to the touch like he always is, but he’s also burning up like he could have a fever. Steve had just assumed that the warmth from Bucky’s constant overheated skin was normal, but now that he’s really thinking about it, he does seem way too hot. He’s also sweating slightly, and when he shifts his body to accommodate Steve grabbing him so he doesn’t accidentally put too much of his weight on Steve’s injuries, he winces and grimaces. “Bucky, why — ”

“Way to stress him out, Sam,” Bucky growls lowly, scowling at Sam. Sam just gives him a pointed look. Between them, Steve feels his heart swell in panic.

“Why are you weak?” Steve asks him, shifting around so he can make room for Bucky to sit down on his hospital bed. He gasps slightly as he moves, his entire body seizing up at the ache in his bones. “Here, sit down — ”

Bucky rushes to stop him, bringing both of his hands up to cup Steve’s face. “I’m fine, baby. I’m okay. It took a lot out of me when I reversed the bite. And those wolfsbane bullets that Rumlow used were in my system for a long time. My strength is just very diminished right now.”

“The wolfsbane was poisoning you, Bucky,” Steve says abruptly, shaking his head as he panics. “Please, baby, I know how much you hate doctors, but you _really_ need to get checked out.”

Bucky shakes his head, soothingly rubbing his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones. “It’s not in my system anymore, sweetheart. It _was_ poisoning me, but Sam helped me get the bullets out. I’m okay now, I promise.”

Steve moves his good hand to Bucky’s long sleeve, gently lifting it up so he can see for himself. His entire body hurts as he moves, but he tries to ignore the pain as he looks at Bucky’s torso. A huge gauze bandage is on the right side of Bucky’s abdomen, and a few spots on it are dark red with his blood. There’s another bandage further down on his left side, like a bullet barely missed him before it nicked over his skin. But he’s still bleeding, and more importantly, not _healing_.

“You’re bleeding,” Steve says roughly, shaking his head. “Please sit down, Bucky. Oh my, _God_. You’re not even _healing_ — ”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says softly, gently grabbing Steve’s hand and entwining their fingers together to get him to stop talking. Bucky’s shirt falls from his grip, and Steve looks up at him sharply. Bucky gives him a soothing smile. “I _am_ healing, baby. It’s just going very slowly. My body was already weakened when I had the wolfsbane in my system, and when I reversed your bite, it completely drained me. But I am _fine_ ,” he says resolutely. “I’ll be all healed up in a few days. Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m worried about _you_.”

“I am, too,” Sam says, nodding in agreement. “You really do need to rest, Steve. You’re not looking too hot, man.”

Steve shoots him a look, but Sam just grins at him. Steve sighs, then relaxes against the bed and stills his body, tightening his grip on Bucky’s hand. Immediately, he feels a lot better when he stops moving.

“How bad am I?” he asks.

Sam’s face falls. “Your right wrist and arm are broken, and your ankle is dislocated. You’ve got a concussion and a few bruised ribs. Your throat,” he pauses, and Bucky growls lowly again as Sam clears his throat. “Your throat,” he repeats, “is pretty mangled from the claws.” He winces, and Steve grimaces. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. And, honestly, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck. You’ve got bruises all over your body.”

“Not a truck,” Steve replies, taking a deep breath. “Just an SUV.”

Bucky closes his eyes again, a haunted look on his face.

“How’s Sharon?” Steve asks suddenly, glancing at both Sam and Bucky.

“She’s okay,” Sam tells him. “She wasn’t as bad as you are.” Bucky makes a low, menacing noise in his throat, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “She’s been by here, actually. She and Natasha both. Natasha sends her best. She wants to come back now that you’re awake. Sharon brought you some flowers.”

Steve just nods, quickly glancing around the room. There’s a small table near the door with an alarming amount of bouquets on it, and Steve’s eyes widen when he sees all of the flowers. Sam tracks his gaze but doesn’t say anything as he gives Steve a small smile.

“How long have I been here?” Steve asks, frowning.

“A few days,” Bucky says quietly, finally opening his eyes and meeting Steve’s as he runs his thumb over Steve’s palm. At Steve’s faint nod, he says, “Why don’t you go back to sleep, baby? I promise I’ll tell you everything after you’ve gotten some rest. You look like you could pass out, sweetheart.”

“My head hurts,” Steve tells him, laying his head back against the pillow. He feels his body start to thrum with pain again. His muscles are beginning to throb. He feels his face twist up, but he can’t hold back his wince. “My whole body hurts.”

Faintly, he feels Sam take the remote to his bed in his hand again and press a button. A little _ding_ sounds through the room, and Steve thinks that he may have pressed the call button. The same nurse who had removed his breathing tube pops her head into the doorway a moment later, saying quietly, “Are we ready for some pain medicine in here?”

Steve sees Sam nod, and a moment later, the nurse quickly brandishes a syringe, then moves past Sam to gently read the fluids hanging above Steve’s head before she starts pushing the syringe into his IV tube.

“Here you go, honey,” she says, her voice quiet. “You’ll feel better, now.”

“Thank you,” he says, feeling his head start to droop. The drowsiness starts trickling through his bloodstream almost immediately.

“Let me know if he needs anything,” the nurse says to Sam as she passes, and Steve thinks he hears Sam say something back, but he can’t focus his hearing enough to catch it.

Bucky runs the back of his warm hand across Steve’s forehead, giving him a small smile when Steve blinks his eyes up to him. “Go to sleep, baby,” he says softly, and Steve tries to focus on his voice, but he’s starting to sound muffled as the drowsiness begins to make his eyes feel heavy.

“Will you stay with me?” Steve asks, hating the way he slurs slightly. His head feels dizzy.

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky says, and the sound of a chair scraping across the tile floor reaches his ears. _Good_ , he thinks dazedly. _Bucky needs to sit down._ But then Bucky’s gently lifting their entwined hands to his mouth, where he presses a small kiss to Steve’s knuckles. His lips are warm, and Steve feels himself smile. “I’m never leaving you again,” Bucky promises, and Steve tries to nod, but his entire body feels heavy now. Bucky’s voice is just so peaceful. Beautiful, like a soft melody. He feels it start to lull him to sleep.

Then lips are at his ear, and he hears Bucky mumble, “I love you,” before Steve’s drifting once more.

—

When he wakes up again sometime later, he groggily looks towards the right side of his hospital bed, where Sam has kicked his feet up to rest on top of Steve’s cotton mattress, eating something with a spoon and flipping through the T.V. channels with Steve’s bedside remote.

“Are you eating jello?” Steve asks, and Sam immediately snaps his attention to him, giving him a small chuckle. “Where did you get that? Can I have some?”

Sam gives him a wide smile as he chuckles again, nodding. “A nurse brought it for you, but you were still asleep, and I got hungry. It’s orange flavored. I couldn’t resist.” Steve gives him a small snort, but Sam stands up and walks toward the small table with the bouquet of flowers, brandishing a second jello cup with a smirk. “Luckily for you, she brought two.”

Steve laughs lightly, trying to move into a better sitting position. He doesn’t feel the weight of Bucky’s hand in his good one, and he glances at Sam confusedly, asking, “Where’s Bucky?”

Sam brings a cart with him as he walks back towards Steve’s right side, moving an attached tray out towards him when he situates the cart to accommodate where Steve’s sitting. He sits the jello cup on top of it, then nods towards the other side of Steve’s bed.

“He’s right there,” Sam replies, and when Steve follows his gaze, he sees that Bucky’s sitting in a plastic visitor’s chair right next to Steve’s bed, slumped over and quietly asleep. A little bit of color has returned to his cheeks, and he doesn’t look as sickly as he did when Steve saw him a short while ago. His head is propped on his shoulder, and his right arm is elongated towards Steve’s bed, like he’s reaching out to take Steve’s hand. Clearly, Steve’s still having trouble centering his mind enough to focus on his surroundings. He hadn’t noticed that Bucky was still so close to him.

“He needed some sleep, too,” Sam continues, leaning down and quickly peeling the top off of Steve’s jello. He hands Steve a spoon. “I know I told you earlier, but he’s still really weak. I’m honestly surprised he was on his feet for as long as he was when he was talking to you.”

Steve frowns at that. He doesn’t like that Bucky wasn’t taking care of himself. If Sam hadn't been here with them, Steve might not have even noticed that anything was wrong with Bucky in enough time to realize that Bucky needed to sit down. He’s still too dizzy and dazed to focus on anything but the dull ache in his bones.

“He needs to let his body heal,” Steve tells Sam disapprovingly, gripping the spoon tighter in his left hand.

“Says you,” Sam chuckles, moving forward to hold the bottom of Steve’s jello when he realizes that Steve’s struggling to hold it enough to stick the spoon in while only using one hand. Steve gives him a grateful look, then starts to spoon out some of the jello. “I swear, both of you are too damn stubborn for your own good.”

Steve gives him another chuckle, bringing the spoon up to his mouth. Sam continues. “You know,” he says quietly, eyes flickering to Bucky before he settles back on Steve, “he hasn’t left your side since you got out of surgery.”

“Surgery?” Steve repeats confusedly.

Sam nods. “They had to operate on your arm, and while you were under the anesthesia, you had some trouble breathing. I’m sure a doctor will be in to talk to you soon. They had a hard time getting you to stop coding for a while, apparently.”

“Oh,” Steve says quietly, swallowing. Sam gives him another nod.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “You can imagine how well that went over with Bucky.”

Steve glances at him, frowning. Bucky would have been livid. God, he must have been terrified.

“I got him calmed down enough to sneak him off to the bathroom so I could help him get those bullets out. I’m telling you, Steve,” Sam says, shaking his head, “I don’t know how all those doctors and nurses didn’t realize that Bucky was seconds away from bleeding out. Rumlow shot him _four_ times. He was _covered_ in blood. You both were.”

Steve feels his chest seize up, and he closes his eyes tightly. He takes a deep breath.

“Did you,” he says, swallowing again as he opens his eyes hesitantly. “Did you see us when he brought me to the hospital?”

“Yes,” Sam says. “He ran here with you. He called me in a panic as soon as they started working on you, but I was already on my way here. I figured this is where he’d take you once he found you. I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the both of you looking like extras from a horror film.”

Steve grimaces. He sticks his spoon in the jello again, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop that,” Sam says, frowning. “You don’t get to apologize for that. You don’t apologize for _anything_. All that matters is that you’re okay. That you’re both okay.”

Steve looks up at him, feeling his eyes start to water, but he nods, sniffling as he shakes his head again.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, exhaling deeply.

“Rumlow got what he deserved, Steve,” Sam tells him, his eyes soft. “I know it’s not what any of us wanted, but I’m sure as hell not gonna lose any sleep over it. He almost killed you, Steve. He almost killed Bucky. As far as I’m concerned, the world’s a better place now without some punk like him in it.”

“So, he’s. . .” Steve trails off, motioning with his spoon. He can’t really bring himself to say the words out loud.

“Yeah,” Sam finishes for him, giving him a wince. “Although, technically, Natasha’s declared him a missing person.”

“What?” Steve asks, confused. “Does she know — ”

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “I left you here with Bucky after you were out of surgery so that I could deal with,” he motions his hand haphazardly towards the door, “everything. Natasha sent me and a SWAT team to Rumlow’s apartment once she figured out that Rumlow was the one who took you. Bucky and I knew you weren’t going to be there, but I couldn’t _not_ go. I had to make sure you weren’t there, but I told Bucky where he might be keeping you, and then I went with the rest of the team to Rumlow’s place.” He shakes his head again, shifting his grip on the jello cup. “His apartment was eerily clean. It didn’t have anything personal in it at all. It was like he was ready to drop everything and leave at a moment’s notice.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, taking another bite of the jello. “Figures. He was in the Army. We’re trained to be able to do that.”

Sam nods. “Once Natasha had realized that you weren’t there, she sent us all back to the precinct to do some more digging on him, but I thought that Bucky may have found you by then, and I wasn’t going to leave you both behind. I drove to the warehouse that I told Bucky to go to, and — ” he cuts himself off with a grimace. Steve watches as he swallows. “It was bad. Rumlow was. . .” he trails off, and Steve gives him a shake of his head. He doesn’t want to know. “So, then I started driving to the nearest hospital, and that’s when Bucky called me.”

“God,” Steve says quietly. His entire body feels heavy all of a sudden.

“The official story,” Sam tells him, “is that Bucky received a phone call from Rumlow right after we all left the precinct. Rumlow told him that if Bucky didn’t involve the police, he’d let you go. When Bucky got to the warehouse, he saw a lot of blood and you tied to a chair. Officially,” Sam repeats, shrugging, “Rumlow’s in the wind. Natasha and the rest of the precinct have no idea where he is.”

“And us?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says, shrugging again. “When I left you here after your surgery and went back to the warehouse, I didn’t see any sign of Rumlow’s body anywhere. And all the blood had been cleaned up. Natasha was just as confused as I was when she showed up with a few unis. She’s convinced that Pierce covered the whole thing up. Oh,” he adds a second later, “I also have your gun.”

Steve nods at him in thanks, then asks, “Why does Natasha think Rumlow took me?”

“She thinks that Pierce told him to, so that we’d stop investigating him and the rest of the Hydra corporations. Pierce doesn’t know that we’re investigating his finances, though. Techies are looking through his accounts now. But Nat’s convinced that Pierce is covering for Rumlow’s disappearance so we can’t bring him in for questioning and charge him with kidnapping. I don’t think she has any idea that he’s actually dead.”

“What do you think?” Steve asks, finishing up the remaining jello as he furrows his eyebrows.

“Honestly,” Sam replies, sighing, “I have no idea. If Pierce _did_ cover it up, wouldn’t that mean that he’d have to have known that Rumlow was a werewolf? How could Rumlow hide something like that from Pierce? It was a Hydra property that he was holding you at. Pierce monitors all of that stuff, man. There’s no way he wouldn’t have known that Rumlow was holding you hostage there.”

“So, you think he covered it up so that he wouldn’t have to deal with a homicide investigation?”

“No,” Sam says, moving to throw away Steve’s jello cup. When he comes back to the hospital bed, he sits back in his chair and lifts his feet up again, shaking his head. “I think he’s involved with all of this werewolf stuff. I think he covered everything up so that no one would find out that Rumlow was a werewolf.”

Steve’s eyes widen slightly as he leans back against his pillow, frowning.

It actually does make a lot of sense.

Steve glances over towards Bucky’s chair, but he hasn’t moved. “What does he think about all that?” Steve asks, still keeping his eyes on Bucky.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been able to really tell him anything,” Sam says. “Not since I got back from the warehouse. He’s been really worried about you, Steve. I think this is the first time he’s slept since I told him you’d been in an accident.”

Steve turns to Sam, his eyes widening in shock again. “Sam,” he says, shaking his head, “I’ve been here for days. He hasn’t slept _at all_?”

“No, man,” Sam responds, frowning. “I’ve tried to get him to relax, but I don’t think he _could_ until he’d been able to talk to you and make sure that you were okay. I’m honestly shocked that he hasn’t passed out before now. Not just from the whole not sleeping thing, but also because I think he was in shock when he first brought you in. He almost shifted on the doctors and nurses when they took you away for surgery. And then again when they brought you back in here.”

Steve had heard that one, he realizes. Bucky had almost shifted when he’d been talking to Sam and Steve had heard them but wasn’t able to open his eyes.

“It was hell when I was taking those bullets out for him. I tried to get him to let a nurse check him out, but he refused.”

Steve can’t help but clench his eyes shut at that, the sinking feeling of dread beginning to coil inside his abdomen. “Of course,” he mutters. “Bucky doesn’t like when strangers touch him.” He hasn’t liked that ever since he’d been brought to the emergency room to get his lungs checked out after his family’s murder. “And he hates hospitals.”

“I kind of figured that one out,” Sam says, giving Steve a sympathetic look. “He almost bit off a nurse’s head when she asked him if he needed a bandage for, what she called, ‘a scratch under his t-shirt.’ If he wasn’t severely weakened from all that wolfsbane in his system and reversing your bite, I’m pretty sure he would have ripped someone’s throat out by now.”

Steve looks at Bucky again, watching the way his chest rises and falls. He looks so peaceful like this, asleep and without a worry in the world. The lines of his face are flat and soft, and his normal brooding frown is nothing but a soft, sleep-rumpled line. There are still shadows under his eyes, and Steve doesn’t think he looks very comfortable with the way his muscular body is bunched up to fit into his chair, but he looks content. Like he’s not hurting. Like he’s not going to disappear if Steve closes his eyes.

He turns back to Sam, taking a deep breath. “How exactly did he reverse the bite?”

Sam gives him a look, and Steve immediately has to bite back a frustrated sigh when Sam says, “Come on, man. It’s not my place to tell you. Bucky wants to tell you, Steve. He just needs for you to recover a little bit more. He doesn’t want to cause you any unnecessary stress.”

“But you _know,_ Sam,” Steve replies, frowning. “He _told_ you.”

“He’s scared of how you’re going to react, Steve,” Sam says quietly, eyes quickly glancing towards Bucky’s sleeping form before he frowns. “It’s not something that can just be casually mentioned. From my understanding, what he did is a _really_ big deal. At least, it is to werewolves. I don’t completely understand all of it,” he admits, and Steve feels himself deflate a little. “Bucky didn’t really explain it to me or anything. But telling you is really important to him, and I think he’s trying to prepare himself to do it.”

“Is it really that bad?” Steve mumbles, feeling his heart start to clench painfully in his chest.

“I don’t know if it’s _bad_ ,” Sam replies. “That’s something you’ll have to decide on your own.”

Steve feels like all of the air in his lungs disappears.

“Is he. . .” he trails off, feeling his eyes start to water even as he desperately tries to pull himself together. “Is he going to leave me?”

Sam immediately whips his head up, his eyes wide as he looks at Steve confusedly. “What?” he balks, shaking his head. “What are you even talking about?”

“He killed someone for me, Sam,” Steve says quietly, trying to hold back a sob. “He took someone’s life. That’s the last thing I ever wanted him to do. That’s the one thing he _never_ wanted to do. I made him do it. I practically forced him to do it. Every time he looks at me, he’ll be reminded of that blood on his hands. The blood that _I_ put there."

“Steve,” Sam says roughly. “What are you even saying right now? Bucky’s not _leaving you_. You didn’t make him do anything, man. Yes, maybe Bucky didn’t _want_ to kill Rumlow, but Rumlow didn’t give him a choice, Steve. He was going to kill both of you. Bucky would do anything to protect you, Steve. It was an impossible decision, man, but I know for a fact that Bucky would never blame you for it. He’s so in love with you, man. He’s been so worried about you. The last thing he’s thinking about is leaving you.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Steve,” Sam repeats, sighing. “At the precinct, Bucky had a panic attack. Sharon was out cold when I was finally able to get to her after she called me, and she couldn’t tell me anything about what happened. When she came in to talk to us and Natasha after she’d been checked out, Bucky smelled your blood on her. He _freaked out_ , man. I’ve never seen someone fall apart so fast. And then, again, when you were brought up to this room after your surgery, he almost shifted because he was so convinced that you were going to be scared of him when you woke up. Bucky is _so_ gone on you, Steve. He loves you so much. He’s not leaving you. That’s, honestly, the last thing he would do right now, especially when you understand what he’s going to tell you.”

Steve stares back at him for a second, bewildered. He inhales sharply, his chest tight.

“He had a panic attack?” he asks, and Sam gives him a small smile.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I pulled him out of it, but I didn’t do nearly as good of a job as I’m sure you would have.”

Steve nods, bringing his good hand up to rub over his chest to try to get his lungs to work again.

“He hasn’t left your side, Steve,” Sam reminds him. “Not once. He’s not going to. That boy is helplessly in love with you. You couldn’t get him to leave even if you tried.”

“I love him, too,” Steve says, sniffling. Belatedly, he looks back to Sam, feeling his cheeks begin to color. “Sorry,” he says like an afterthought. “I. . .didn’t mean to get like that. I think this medication they’ve got me on is making me emotional.”

“And delusional,” Sam adds, and smirks when Steve’s blush deepens.

“Sorry,” Steve repeats, chuckling in embarrassment.

“Give him some time, Steve,” Sam tells him, sobering. “He wants to tell you really badly. And when he does tell you, make sure he does it when I’m not here.” He fakes a grimace. “I really do not want to be around for that conversation.”

Steve laughs, and they lapse back into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky are finally reunited! I just had to include some angst, lol. 
> 
> We're finally getting some answers in the next chapter, which includes what Bucky was planning on telling Steve at the masquerade, and how he was able to reverse Steve's bite! Stay tuned! Things are about to heat up ;)
> 
> For your reading enjoyment, I listened to [this song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-kne4ZTQDE) [this song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3b1CDLsiGU) and [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQiM73PJVc4) while writing this chapter! 
> 
> See you guys in a few day!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you guys so much for supporting me during this story! All of your comments, kudos, and praises have definitely been the best part of posting these chapters!
> 
> So, technically, this chapter was supposed to be the last chapter, but it's so huge that I've decided to split it up. Consider this as part one of the final chapter! 
> 
> This story continues to be unbeta'd, so I'm so sorry if there are errors and inconsistencies. I've looked over some of the chapters I've posted, and it looks like some of the things in italics stick to other words sometimes, and I've been trying to fix those.
> 
> There's a lot coming at you in this chapter, and I hope it was well worth the wait! 
> 
> Also, note the updated tags ;)
> 
> Here's to chapter 16! Enjoy!

_“Be always gentle; every heart hides wounds that never bleed.” — Alexandra Vasiliu_

Eventually, a doctor does come to talk to Steve after he’s woken up a third time.

Bucky’s awake this time, too, and he eyes the doctor warily as he tells Steve that he needs to take it easy so that he doesn’t make his concussion worse. He explains that Steve’s probably going to feel really out of it for the next few days because of his injuries, but he’s confident that Steve will start feeling better by the next week. When all is said and done, the doctor explains, Steve is actually really lucky that he sustained injuries from a serious car accident and survived a kidnapping and is only walking away with a broken wrist and arm, a concussion, a dislocated ankle, and mild internal injuries.

Bucky scowls at that, but the doctor quickly tells him that Steve’s a fighter and that he’s lucky to be alive. He leaves pretty quickly after he says that Steve should be fine to go home in a few days after he receives another head CT scan to make sure his brain is healing from his concussion and another blood transfusion to bring up his red blood cell count. Bucky glares at him until he leaves, Sam just gives Steve a reassuring smile and goes back to watching whatever he’s got playing on the T.V., and Steve grabs Bucky’s hand with his good one, entwining their fingers together as he teases Bucky that he’s being too grumpy.

Natasha and Sharon both come by the next day, bringing even more flowers in their wake. Steve’s hospital room is slowly starting to look like a small floral shop, but he gives them both bright smiles and thanks them when they set their bouquets down with the rest of the ones around the room. Bucky’s nose wrinkles unconsciously when he smells them, and Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s hand in reassurance.

Sharon tears up when Steve asks her how she’s feeling, sniffling as she apologizes for not doing more to help him during the accident. She briefly glances at he and Bucky’s entwined hands before she starts apologizing all over again. Steve just tells her that she has nothing to apologize for and that he’s glad she’s alright.

Bucky looks uncomfortable as Sharon talks to him, barely suppressing a grimace every time she sniffles, like the sound of it hurts his ears. Sam watches her with a mild look on his face, then tells her that if she hadn’t been there in the car with Steve, they wouldn’t have been able to find him after he’d been taken. Steve knows he’s just trying to make her feel better, so he bites his tongue as she nods and wipes her tears away, even though a voice in the back of his head whispers that Bucky would have been able to find him anyway. It makes her stop crying though, and Bucky looks grateful as her sobs die down, so Steve gives her a soothing smile.

Natasha gives him a hug and tells him that she’s happy he’s alive. Steve can’t help but chuckle at her bluntness, and she grins at him as she assures him after questioning him for a minutes that she’s going to bring Pierce to justice for what he’s done to him. She briefly tells him that the techies haven’t found anything yet in Pierce’s finances, but then she warns him that she doesn’t want him worrying about anything work related until he’s cleared and returns in six weeks. Steve tells her that she’s being too generous with the time she’s giving him and gently insists that he’ll be fine in just a few weeks to return to duty, but with help of a warning look from Bucky and a promise from Natasha that she’ll keep him updated on the case against Pierce, Steve relents and thanks her for her blatant favoritism. Natasha grins at him widely, and Steve can practically read the smugness on her face when she gives Bucky a high-five.

When the women leave, both Sam and Bucky inform Steve about their slight Sharon problem, and Steve listens worriedly as they tell him that she saw Rumlow’s werewolf eyes before Rumlow had taken him. His mind begins spiraling as he starts to think about Sharon exposing Rumlow as a werewolf, even though he’s certain she has no idea that werewolves exist, and that she’ll somehow end up inadvertently exposing Bucky and Bucky will be taken away from him. Bucky quickly begins to soothe him and tells him not to worry about it, that they’ll figure it out if she continues to talk about it, and gently pleads with Steve not to stress himself out. Steve’s reluctant to let it go, but he relents only after Bucky assures him that he doesn’t think she’s going to be an issue and promises that everything is going to be alright as he comfortingly runs his thumb over the inside of Steve’s wrist.

The next day, Bucky’s looking a lot better and doesn’t look sickly or like he could keel over at any second. He tells Steve that he’s feeling much more like himself and that he thinks he should be completely back to normal by the next day.

Sam goes to their brownstone for them to grab them both a change of clothes for when Steve gets out of the hospital before Steve’s supposed to get his blood transfusion. Bucky holds his hand the entire time as his RN monitors his levels and tells him he should feel a lot more energized once the blood cycles through his heart. Bucky has a weird look on his face the entire time the transfusion takes place, and when the RN leaves after all of the blood circulates into Steve’s system, he wrinkles up his nose adorably and tells Steve that he smells wrong. Steve laughs and jokes that it must be a nice change for Bucky’s senses, but Bucky just shakes his head with a frown and tells Steve that he likes the way that he smells.

Sam comes back with three changes of clothes for Bucky and one for him since Steve’s still wearing a hospital gown. Bucky’s still sleeping at the hospital with him, and when Steve tries to convince him to go home to at least shower and maybe get a better night's sleep, Bucky gets a hurt look on his face and says that he’ll only leave if Steve asks him to. Steve can’t do that, not when the last thing he wants is for Bucky to leave him right now, so he just gives Bucky a kiss and tells him that he wants him to say. Bucky nods, and then proceeds to take a shower in Steve’s tiny ensuite hospital bathroom like he’s taken to doing these past few days.

Sam also sneaks him in food once he realizes that the last time Steve had eaten had been when he and Sam had driven to the tailor’s to pick up their suits before the masquerade. Steve thinks it might be the best meal he’s had in a while. He tries to share his food with Bucky, even though Bucky insists that he doesn’t want any. Sam pulls out a second bag full of even more chicken from the restaurant he’d gotten it from after Bucky stubbornly refuses to eat Steve’s food a second time, and Steve chuckles as Bucky practically tears the bag out of Sam’s hand in his haste to get to the chicken inside of it. Sam just tosses him a sauce packet and settles in to eat.

That night, Bucky awkwardly explains to him without really revealing too much that Steve’s body is slowly starting to preternaturally heal itself from all of his injuries. He tries, and fails, to explain that Steve’s healing faster than a human but a lot slower than a werewolf, so in a few weeks, he’ll most likely be completely healed. Steve balks at him, but Bucky doesn’t really say much after that, and when he asks Sam again, Sam just shakes his head and says it’s not his place to explain it. Steve sighs at the both of them, muttering that he’s getting tired of being kept in the dark. Bucky promises to tell him soon, and Steve just sighs again and lets Bucky run his fingers through Steve’s hair to lull him to sleep.

His CT scan comes back normal the day after that, and with the all clear from his doctor, who’s only come back to talk to him twice since the first time, he’s good to go home that afternoon after a total of a week in the hospital.

He’s feeling good as he walks towards the exit of the hospital, happy to be leaving. He’d refused to let a nurse bring a wheelchair for him, but he can tell that his slight staggering as he slowly moves through the hallways of the hospital is making Bucky nervous. Steve’s been able to walk without any help for three days now, but Bucky always lingers next to him, hands outstretched like he’s ready to catch Steve if it becomes too much, just like he is now. Steve’s not really in any pain anymore, thanks to the many medications he’s prescribed to take for the next two weeks. He still has a dull ache over his entire body, but he thinks he’s slowly starting to heal like Bucky said he would. His concussion only hurts when his medication wears off. His sprained ankle is held securely in a tight brace, and the bruises on his body are finally starting to fade. All in all, he’s in a lot better shape than he was when he was first admitted.

He’s got a more comfortable brace on his arm that is currently nested inside a sling he’s got looped around his neck. He thinks his broken wrist is starting to correct itself, and although it still incredibly hurts, he didn’t mention that to the nurse when she fit the brace over it so as not to draw any suspicion towards his enhanced healing.

Bucky also has to help him shower now because Steve can’t really stand for long periods of time without getting lightheaded. He doesn’t seem bothered when he holds Steve up and helps him wash his body, and Steve finds comfort in the way Bucky gently touches him. Every time he feels like he might be spiraling or fading away because he’s still hazy about everything that’s happened to him, he focuses on the feel of Bucky’s hands and lets the warmth of Bucky’s fingertips ground him. It’s been a tight fit in his tiny hospital bathroom so far, and Steve’s more than looking forward to getting back to he and Bucky’s very spacious shower. He’s looking forward to being _home_.

Sam’s waiting for them when they exit the hospital, leaning outside of his Charger as he grins widely at them.

Steve’s Camaro, according to Bucky, is completely totaled. Steve had forgotten over the lingering confusion from his brain trauma that he’d already known that the Camaro wasn’t going to be salvageable, but when Bucky told him that a few days ago, it had still hit him hard. The Camaro was the first thing he’d bought for himself when he’d returned stateside, and he’d felt like the air was knocked out of his lungs when he’d realized that Rumlow had taken that away from him, too. The Camaro was a part of him, an extension of himself that represented how far he’d come to get past his horrific time overseas. He loved that car.

Sam’s Charger, in comparison, is probably a lot more conspicuous as a cop car, but it doesn’t amount to how awesome the Camaro was. Still, though, he likes Sam’s car well enough, and Sam had been really excited when Steve had asked him to drive he and Bucky home from the hospital, so he tries not to dwell on his thoughts too much. Steve’s not cleared to drive yet, even though, realistically, he could if he had to, and Bucky had said that his bike wasn’t safe for Steve to ride on when he was still injured.

Steve gives Sam a grin as Bucky opens the back door for him and then helps to situate him in the backseat before he walks around the other side to join Steve. Steve can tell that Bucky’s being a little more overprotective because of his injuries, so he doesn’t say how Bucky would be more comfortable in the front seat with Sam, just smiles and moves a bouquet of daisies out of the way for him when he settles in next to Steve.

Sam had brought most of the other bouquets with him earlier so he could drop them off at Steve and Bucky’s brownstone, but there are still a few Steve needs to bring up with him when they get home.

He’d been a tad nervous to get back into a car, even though he knew he didn’t need to be worried. Rationally, Steve knows that what he and Sharon went through was traumatic enough to warrant his anxiousness at being in a car again, but he tries to tell himself to calm down. He’s been through a lot worse than a car accident, even if that accident _was_ severe. He should be able to sit in this car and not feel as nervous as he is right now.

That doesn’t stop the slight panic that seizes his lungs as Sam has to slam on his brakes when a car cuts them off as soon as they leave the parking lot, and he inhales sharply, trying to take a deep breath to calm himself down. Bucky notices, of course, and gently leans over to grab his hand and entwine their fingers together, wrapping his other arm around Steve’s shoulders and slowly pulling him into his warm chest. From where Steve’s slumped against him, he can hear as Bucky’s calming heartbeat, and he lets it soothe him as he closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. The floral smells of the car would normally be too overwhelming for him, but he finds them calming as he inhales deeply.

Steve unintentionally drifts as Sam drives, lulled by the warmth of Bucky’s skin, the sound of his heart, and the pull of exhaustion that thrums in his veins from his medications and lets Bucky and Sam’s conversation flow over him. He doesn’t really even know what they’re talking about, just hears the low whispers of their voices as they occasionally speak to each other. He must fall asleep at some point because when he opens his eyes again, Sam’s parked right in front of he and Bucky’s brownstone.

Sam says something to Bucky before Bucky nods, and then Sam starts gathering the remaining bouquets and catches Bucky’s keys when he tosses them towards the front seat, then shuts the door quietly and starts walking across the street towards the entrance of their brownstone.

Bucky removes his arm from around Steve slowly, rubbing his thumb over the backside of Steve’s hand soothingly as Steve blinks at him.

“We’re home,” he says softly, and Steve nods at him, blinking his eyes again to try to rid them of the lingering tiredness.

Bucky gives him a fond smile as he helps Steve sit up straight, and then he’s opening his car door and stepping out. Almost immediately, he’s holding Steve’s own door open, and Steve blinks up at him, a little surprised, before he grins, bracing his good hand on the handle of the door and lifting himself up. He leans heavily against the door once he’s standing, feeling slightly off balance and a tad disorientated as Bucky’s hands come up to quickly yet gently grasp his shoulders to steady him.

“You okay?” he asks warily, his beautiful face pulled down into a concerned frown.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “I just got a little dizzy.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” Bucky asks, his voice comforting. His hands tighten on Steve’s shoulders, and Steve gives him a soft smile.

“I’m okay, Buck,” he replies, moving his good hand off of the car door to grab at Bucky’s bicep. He squeezes it lightly in reassurance. “I can walk.”

Bucky’s eyes briefly flicker towards the entrance of their brownstone, before he looks back at Steve with furrowed eyes. “There are a lot of stairs, baby,” he says, his voice soft yet somber. “You might get too tired climbing them, sweetheart. I don’t want you to fall. It’ll be faster if I carry you.”

“What?” Steve asks, trying to give him a teasing grin. He doesn’t want to be any more of a burden than he already knows he is. “You got something better to do than to help me climb up a few stairs?”

He tries to sound lighthearted, but Bucky must catch the slight waver in his voice. He shakes his head quickly, his stoic face pinched.

“No, baby,” he says soothingly. “I don’t want you to exert yourself too much. You’re barely back on your feet, sweetheart.”

“I can do it,” Steve says, shaking his head stubbornly.

“I know you can,” Bucky agrees, nodding. “But the sooner we get up there, the sooner you can go back to sleep, baby. I know that you’re tired.”

Steve gives him a look. “You’re tired, too. You may be completely fine now, but you barely slept at the hospital, Buck. And you weren’t sleeping before that, either. You need to sleep, too.”

“Okay,” Bucky says easily. “We can take a nap together.” Steve nods at him, and Bucky moves his hands down to Steve’s elbows, careful not to put too much pressure on the arm Steve’s got in the sling. “What if I carried you up the steps, and then you walked to our door? Would that be okay?”

Steve bites his lip, thinking it over briefly. He doesn’t want to inconvenience Bucky in any way, but Bucky seems pretty decided on not letting Steve climb up all of their stairs. There isn’t an elevator in their brownstone, and at times like these, Steve really wishes that there was one. He can’t say that he’s really looking forward to climbing up four flights of stairs to get to their apartment, so he sighs. He gives Bucky a nod, and Bucky’s frown disappears as he gives Steve a smile, and Steve shakes his head fondly as Bucky moves to close the car door and lock Sam’s car.

He helps Steve cross the street, and they do so very slowly, but Bucky doesn’t look anything but content as they finally take the few steps up towards the entrance of their brownstone. Once they’re inside, Bucky briefly glances around the small lobby and tilts his head to the side, and when he doesn’t see anyone or hear anything, he’s quickly but gently hooking his arm underneath Steve’s legs as he rests his hand on Steve’s back and lifts him up into his arms in one smooth motion. Steve wraps his good arm around Bucky’s neck, trying to fight the blush on his cheeks as Bucky gives him another affectionate smile.

He’s not really embarrassed or chagrined, but Steve feels a little bit like he’s a small child. He hates that he needs to be taken care of this way.

Bucky kisses his forehead, walking easily towards the bottom of the stairs like supporting all of Steve’s weight doesn’t even faze him, and, honestly, it probably doesn’t. He looks perfectly at ease as he tightens his hold on Steve, gives him another soft smile, and proceeds to vanish up the stairs.

One second, Bucky’s taking a step forward to start climbing the stairs, and then suddenly they’re at the top of the fourth floor in less than a second. Steve gasps slightly and tightens his arm around Bucky’s neck instinctively, his heart racing. He calms only a second later, relaxing back against Bucky. He’d forgotten how fast Bucky can move sometimes. His preternatural werewolf abilities extend to his speed, too.

Bucky looks over him briefly before he gently starts to lower Steve onto his feet, and Steve feels momentarily lightheaded again as he keeps his arm around Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s hands gently grab at his sides to settle him, and he gives Steve another concerned look, but Steve just shakes his head.

He takes a tentative step forward, and Bucky goes with him. Steve feels good now, like he’s not going to fall over, but Bucky’s hands remain at his sides and Steve keeps his arm around Bucky’s neck. Together, they walk the next few feet towards their front door, and Bucky reaches his hand out quickly and opens their door. They walk through smoothly, and Steve’s eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees all of the flowers from his hospital room on their dining room table.

Sam’s sitting on their sofa, giving Steve an encouraging smile when Bucky maneuvers him to sit on the couch. Once he’s situated, Steve glances back at the dining room table and shakes his head slightly. He didn’t realize how many bouquets Natasha and Sharon, and some other detectives from the precinct, had gotten him. The small floral shop of his hospital room had been nothing compared to seeing all of them covering every spare inch of he and Bucky’s dining room table.

The roses Bucky had gotten him for the masquerade are still on the counter, Steve notices, and Steve gives a soft chuckle when he catches sight of them. The bright hue of the flowers contrasts nicely with the dark color of the brick, and they’re still blooming steadily despite having been more than a week old.

Bucky hadn’t brought him flowers in the hospital, which he’d repeatedly apologized for, much to Steve’s amusement. He’d been too worried and stressed to leave Steve’s side for anything, much less to walk down to the gift shop and buy him an overpriced bundle of cheap flowers. Steve had just laughed and assured him that he didn’t need flowers from Bucky; all he needed was for Bucky to be at his side — safe, happy, and alive.

“You feeling okay, man?” Sam asks, and Steve gives him a wide-eyed look, momentarily thrown by the question, having not realized that he was spiraling again, before he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m just feeling a little tired and woozy.”

“Okay,” Sam says, nodding acceptingly. “I’ll let you rest. Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll come by here tomorrow to see how you’re feeling.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Thank you for everything, Sam,” he says honestly, giving him a smile.

Sam grins. “Of course, man. You’re welcome. I’ll see you later. Bucky,” he calls, and Bucky comes back into the living room, giving him a questioning look. Steve hadn’t even known that Bucky wasn’t beside him anymore. “Take care of him,” Sam continues, giving Bucky a pointed look. “If I come back here tomorrow and he’s frothing at the mouth, I’m calling Animal Control to come wrangle your wolfy ass.”

Steve chuckles, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’ve got him, Sam,” Bucky replies, and Sam’s expression immediately shifts into a fond one.

“I know,” Sam says, grinning. “I mean it, though; if you guys need anything, call me. Get some rest, Steve. You, too, Bucky. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“See you, Sam,” Steve says, bringing his good arm up to wrap loosely around Sam’s neck when he leans down for a quick hug. Sam gives him a pat on the shoulder, shoots Bucky another pointed look, and then leaves quietly.

“I’m going to strangle him with my claws if he doesn’t stop with his werewolf jokes,” Bucky says after a beat of silence, and Steve chuckles at him, closing his eyes as he leans back against the couch cushions.

“He does seem pretty fond of them,” he agrees.

Steve hears Bucky step in front of him, and then a second later, his feverishly hot hands are on Steve’s face as he crouches down. Steve opens his eyes, giving Bucky a tired grin.

“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky says, his voice soft. “Let’s go to sleep, baby.”

“Okay,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes again as he nuzzles into the warmth of Bucky’s hands.

“Not here,” Bucky says, chuckling. Steve grins at the laughter in his voice. Bucky’s hands move down his body to gently grasp at his thighs, and Steve moves his good arm around Bucky’s neck again. Bucky lifts him up easily, and he quickly walks Steve into their bedroom before he softly lays him down on top of their bed.

Their bed is already unmade, and Steve figures Bucky must have done that when he’d left Steve on the couch. He smiles, pressing his lips against Bucky’s warm cheekbone before he lets go, relaxing against the mattress.

Bucky tilts his head down to press a soft kiss to Steve’s lips, and when he pulls back, Steve smiles sleepily at him. He shifts on the bed, trying to move into a better position, and brings his hand around his neck to unhook the sling. He’s okay with sleeping with the brace on, but the sling is uncomfortable, and he really wants it off.

He tosses it onto his nightstand and nestles back into the bed again. He’s wearing sweatpants and a cotton t-shirt, comfy clothes, so he figures he’s alright to settle in for a nap. Next to him, Bucky climbs into the bed, pulling his shirt off like he always does when he sleeps, and lays down next to Steve.

Something shiny catches his gaze as Bucky relaxes against his pillow, and Steve turns to him slowly, reaching his good hand out to gently grasp, what looks to be, his dog tags.

“I didn’t know if I’d see these again,” he says, his mouth suddenly dry. He rubs his thumb along the raised metal, and one of Bucky’s hands comes up to rest on Steve’s ribs. “Rumlow told me that he’d ripped them off of my neck.”

“I found them,” Bucky tells him, running his palm over Steve’s side. He’s quiet for a second, watching Steve’s face. Steve doesn’t look at him, just continues staring at the metal between his fingertips. “I was going to give them back to you. I promise. Do you want them back right now?”

Steve takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “No,” he says, swallowing slowly. “They look good on you.”

Bucky inhales sharply. “Baby, they’re yours.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “I want you to keep them.” He pauses, clenching his jaw. “You know. . .” he trails off, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Rumlow asked me why I still wore them. He knew that I didn’t like thinking about Afghanistan, and he asked me why I would keep wearing them when all they were was a constant reminder to me of a time where I’d given up hope. The real reason is because they remind me to always keep fighting. They remind me that there’s always something to fight for.” He pauses again, exhaling slowly. “I can’t think of anything better to fight for than for you. I’ll always fight for you.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I want you to wear them, baby,” Steve says, finally meeting Bucky’s gaze. “They really do look good on you.”

Bucky looks into his eyes deeply, his stoic face serious and morose, but he nods, shuffling forward and placing another soft kiss on Steve’s lips. “Okay,” he whispers against Steve’s mouth, nodding again. “I’ll wear them for you.”

Steve gives his own nod, and Bucky leans his face up and gently kisses his forehead. “Let’s go to sleep, sweetheart,” he says, so quiet and soothing, even as his voice wavers slightly.

Steve smiles at him, nodding again, and feels Bucky pull their comforter over their bodies. He nuzzles into his pillow, shifting closer to the warmth of Bucky’s chest, and closes his eyes.

He’s asleep only minutes later.

—

The week that follows Steve’s release from the hospital is mostly filled with boredom and a lot of cuddling.

Bucky doesn’t leave Steve’s side for days after Steve gets home. They spend the majority of their time in bed together, watching movies and catching up on their favorite T.V. shows. Steve’s medication makes him tired all the time, and he quickly finds that once his body stops moving for a few minutes, he’s prone to falling asleep almost anywhere in their apartment. He’d even almost fallen asleep in the shower the day after he’d returned home, and Bucky had promptly panicked and hopped underneath the spray to stop Steve from falling over, afraid that Steve was beginning to faint.

So, Steve’s not entirely aware of what happens around him for the remainder of the week. Sam comes over the next day after Steve and Bucky wake up, just like he promised he would, and spends the rest of the day sitting on the sofa opposite Steve and Bucky while they all watch T.V. together in the living room. Steve sleeps for pretty much the entire day, laying on top of Bucky or slumped against him, but Sam and Bucky never call him out for it, and they both seem completely fine to carry on any conversations they were having without him or even go into the kitchen and fix something for him to eat when he inevitably wakes after a few hours to an empty stomach.

It takes another few days for Bucky to feel comfortable leaving Steve alone in their brownstone for longer than a few minutes. Every time he has to go out to the grocery store or needs to go check up on something at his garage, he always calls Sam to come stay with Steve for however long he’s going to be gone. After Sam sheepishly, and unintentionally, admits that he’s supposed to be at work that day and that he’s been pulled away from the precinct twice now to stay with Steve, Steve corners Bucky and tells him that he is _fine_ and perfectly capable of staying by himself for a few hours, and that Bucky needs to leave Sam alone. Bucky doesn’t look happy about leaving Steve alone the next time he has to go down to his garage to fix someone’s broken radiator hose, but after Steve assures him that he’s probably just going to sleep the entire time Bucky’s gone and will call if he starts to feel bad again, Bucky leaves without any arguing, even though Steve can tell that he’s incredibly reluctant to do so.

After the first week passes, Steve finally starts to gain back some of his mobility and is able to stay awake for more than a few hours a day. His pain has significantly decreased, and he thinks his body is finally starting to heal itself with the help of whatever it is that Bucky did to stop Rumlow’s bite. He tries to convince Bucky that he’s fine, too, that he’s ready to talk about whatever it is that Bucky needs to tell him, but Bucky just continues to avoid any questions Steve throws at him. He always changes the subject whenever Steve brings up their conversation from the hospital. He’ll stall Steve’s questions in other ways, too, whenever he thinks that Steve is being particularly pushy that day and doesn’t want to refuse Steve a second time. For as many times as Bucky finds himself gently refusing to tell Steve anything related to what he’d hinted at in the hospital, he can’t bring himself to tell Steve ‘no’ twice. If trying to change the subject fails, Bucky will start to rub the tired muscles of Steve’s back, or massage his thighs and calves, or press soft kisses to Steve’s throat until Steve forgets what he was even talking about in the first place.

That part always comes, too. As soon as Bucky puts his hands on Steve or starts to gently kiss over the fading marks on his neck, Steve loses his train of thought. He can’t focus on what he’s trying to say when Bucky touches him like that.

Which is exactly what Bucky wants, Steve thinks, because he does it nearly _all the time_ now.

Bucky will gently coax Steve to lay on top of him while they lay in bed together and just soothingly run his hands over Steve’s back for hours. If they’re on the couch, Bucky will rub at his shoulders and kiss over the wounds on his neck whenever Steve starts talking about bites and things Rumlow said to him. It never fails to get Steve pliant in Bucky’s arms, or make him completely relaxed enough that he starts to drift off again. Even though Steve knows what Bucky’s doing, knows that Bucky’s stalling so he doesn’t have to answer anything yet, he never once stops Bucky or argues with him. Steve has never once claimed that he’s some master of control. He’s not made of steel. He’s not strong enough to stop himself from wanting Bucky’s hands on him at all times. Feeling Bucky’s gentle touch has always been one of his biggest weaknesses.

Two and a half weeks after he’s been released from the hospital, though, Steve decides he’s had enough. Bucky’s still reading through his mother’s journals vigorously, and no matter how much Steve tries to plead with him, he’s still not really sleeping. Bucky’s still not showing signs of exhaustion, but he gets a pinched look on his face whenever he thinks that Steve’s not looking at him. The shadows of his face seem to permanently darken his brooding scowl, and, sometimes, Steve thinks he can see pain lurking beneath Bucky’s eyes, a haunted glint that he tries to hide whenever he catches Steve looking at him, like he’s still afraid, still so on guard and tense even when there’s nothing to be scared about anymore. Steve’s tired of being kept in the dark, and he hates that look on Bucky’s face. Nothing should be making Bucky look that way ever again.

Steve’s just woken up from yet another nap when he finds Bucky on the couch that evening. He may be finally regaining his strength, but he still gets worn out sometimes. Especially after today, when Steve had finally been able to talk Bucky into letting him go down the street to the grocery store with him.

They’d gotten back an hour ago, and Steve had gently asked Bucky to lay with him in their bed, but when Steve looks over to Bucky’s side, he finds it empty. Steve quickly pulls himself up and starts walking out of their bedroom.

Bucky’s flipping through one of his mother’s journals and biting his bottom lip when Steve walks into the living room. He’s engrossed in whatever he’s reading, but his eyes immediately snap up to Steve’s when he hears Steve come into the room. Steve groans a little as he leans against the doorway, needing to lean against it to help support himself. He’s still slightly disoriented from just waking up, and Bucky quickly shuts the journal in his hands as he stands, moving to Steve’s side before Steve can even make another sound.

“What are you doing, baby?” he asks.

“You weren’t in bed with me,” Steve replies, letting Bucky set him down onto the couch. “And I’ve been asleep for a while. I’m all good now.”

He enunciates his words carefully, hoping Bucky understands what he’s trying to say. He actually feels really good. Nothing is hurting, and he doesn’t feel the ache in his bones that he’s become accustomed to. He’s not tired, either, just a little groggy from just waking up. His mind is sharp and clear. He only gets lightheaded for a few seconds sometimes before he’s fine. He’s practically healed. He’s ready for Bucky to explain everything to him. There’s no excuse now. There hasn’t been an excuse for a few days now, not when Bucky knows how much this secretism is killing Steve.

“You didn’t need to get out of bed, Stevie. I would’ve come back in if you’d called for me. How did you sleep?”

“Great,” Steve says, grabbing onto Bucky’s wrist and giving him a small tug. Bucky sits down next to him on the couch with a chuckle. “Did you sleep?” he asks patiently. It’s become a thing now, he supposes, making sure that Bucky sleeps for at least a few hours a day. He would prefer that Bucky actually slept through the night, but Steve will take what he can get.

Bucky nods at him, smiling. “Yes,” he says indulgently. “I feel much more rested now.”

“Good,” Steve replies, grinning. He nods towards the journal on the opposite side of where Bucky’s sitting, asking carefully, “What were you reading, Buck?”

He’s way past the point of being subtle, but Steve isn’t going to let Bucky change the subject this time.

Sure enough, Bucky immediately stiffens a little, his smile dropping from his face. His forehead creases in displeasure, and he fixes Steve with a foreboding look, his brooding face resolute as he exhales a long-suffering sigh, saying quietly, “Steve. . .”

“Bucky,” Steve replies, heaving his own sigh. “I need to know. I can’t — ” he cuts himself off, exhaling slowly. “Rumlow said a lot of things to me that aren’t making sense, Buck. He knew things that I didn’t. Please don’t try to keep this from me.”

“Steve, you’re still healing, sweetheart. I don’t want to stress you out,” Bucky says, running a hand over his face. “You’ve been through a lot, baby. You need to process everything that’s happened to you. I don’t want to add to your worry, Steve. It can wait.”

“Bucky, that’s bullshit,” Steve says, and Bucky quickly snaps his eyes up, shocked. “I’m practically healed. There is no reason why you can’t tell me whatever it is that I need to know. Sam said that it’s important, Buck. Even _he’s_ surprised that you haven’t told me by now.”

“I don’t care what Sam said,” Bucky says roughly, shaking his head. “This isn’t something we should be arguing about, Steve. You shouldn’t worry about this. You need to rest, baby.”

“Please,” Steve says softly, clenching his eyes shut. He tries to control his breathing as he says, “Please don’t treat me like a victim. I can’t — ” _Can’t have you looking at me like I’m weak, like I’m going to fall apart if you say the wrong thing._

“I’m not,” Bucky says quickly, moving forward so he can rub his hand over Steve’s face soothingly. “I’m sorry.”

Steve takes a deep breath, nodding. “I’m not going to break, Bucky,” he says quietly. “Anything you tell me will be better than what I’ve been thinking.”

And what he’s been thinking, above all, varies daily from Bucky trying to put distance between them because he’s trying to prepare himself to leave Steve, or different situations where Bucky tells Steve that he no longer loves him, which continue to bring Steve’s _very_ few insecurities to the forefront of his mind, or even that Bucky’s going to ask him to move in with Sam until he can figure out what’s wrong with his control. Steve is _not_ going to leave, and part of him thinks that he might need to start gearing himself up to be argue when Bucky tells him that he thinks they need to break up.

He’s been driving himself sick trying to figure out what Bucky needs to tell him, and if Bucky tells him that he doesn’t think they should be together anymore, Steve is going to lose it.

“Steve. . .” Bucky trails off, sighing as he shakes his head again.

“Do you think I can’t handle it or something?” Steve asks, biting the inside of his cheek. “Do you really think it’ll be better for me to keep driving myself crazy trying to figure out whatever it is you’ve been keeping from me? I’m not going to run off, Bucky. I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I don’t even know if I could make it down those stairs by myself right now. I literally can’t run away from you.”

He meant it as a joke, to maybe try to dispel some of the growing tension that’s starting to stifle between them, but Bucky’s muscles tense up, his stoic face pinched as a scowl begins to take over his features.

“That’s exactly my point, Steve,” he says, his voice serious and rough. “You’re barely even able to stand on your own. You’re not _healed_. I’ve done enough damage to you. I don’t need to add to your trauma.”

“Bucky,” Steve starts, frowning. “You didn’t do this to me. What Rumlow did to me is not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Bucky laughs humorlessly. “He hurt you because he knew what it would do to me, Steve. He hurt you because of what you _meant_ to me. He knew that the only way I wouldn’t kill him was if he put you between us. Everything that he did to you is my fault. It’s my fault you were involved in all of this in the first place. None of this would have happened if I’d never — ”

He abruptly cuts himself off harshly, and Steve feels the blood drain from his face as he feels like all of the air in his lungs suddenly gets knocked out of him.

He pulls away from Bucky’s hands, shifting away from him on the couch. He feels cold all of a sudden, like all of the warmth from Bucky’s body has been replaced by ice.

“If you’d never _what_ , Bucky?” he asks, blood rushing in his ears. “If you’d never met me? Is that what you were going to say?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything as a low growl rumbles in his chest. He doesn’t look over at Steve, and Steve feels his heart skip a beat. Bucky’s silence is all the confirmation he needs. It’s like all of this fear he’s been feeling inside, all of these doubts and worries about Bucky thinking he’s weak, or that he doesn’t want to be with Steve anymore, is being thrown right back into Steve’s face.

“How can you say that?” Steve asks, strained. His throat burns and his chest feels tight. His stomach coils into a knot.

“I put you in danger,” Bucky says quietly, and the sound of his voice makes Steve flinch. “Being with me will always put you in danger.”

“Because I’m just a human?” Steve bites out, anger bubbling up inside of him. “You knew that the minute we met, Bucky. And we decided to be together _anyway_. Don’t act like that’s a _valid reason_.”

“A valid reason for what?” Bucky asks, sighing.

“For convincing yourself that you need to leave me,” Steve says harshly, the words like acid on his tongue. “If you want to leave me, just tell me. Is that what you wanted to talk about at the masquerade? That you don’t want to be with me anymore because I’m just a weak little human? That I’m not good enough to be with an Alpha werewolf like you?”

Bucky’s head snaps up quickly, and the look on his face, so shocked and stunned, makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat. “What?” he asks disbelievingly, confused. “I’m not _leaving you!_ I would _never_ leave you! I would never leave you _at all_ , but especially not _now_. Not when you’re hurt and vulnerable. You know I don’t think that you’re _weak_. How could you think you’re not good enough for me? You’re _everything_ to me, Steve. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Steve inhales a shaky breath as a tear escapes his eyes. He doesn’t remember starting to cry.

“Then why did you say that?” he sniffles, wiping his face quickly. He must still be emotional from all of his medications.

Bucky’s face twists up in pain as he stares at Steve. “I didn’t mean — ” he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. “I’m doing this all wrong,” he says, moving closer to Steve and timidly reaches out to take his hand. Steve lets him, sniffling again, and entwines their hands together. “I didn’t mean to upset you, baby,” Bucky continues, his voice wrecked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I wished that I’d never met you. I don’t wish that at all. I will _never_ wish that. I just meant that I wish I would have told you some things sooner. A lot of this could have been avoided if I would’ve figured things out a lot sooner than I did.”

Steve lets Bucky lift his other hand up to rub along his cheekbone. Bucky leans in and presses a soothing kiss to his forehead, and Steve feels his body begin to relax as his anger dissipates.

“I’m not leaving you,” Bucky says quietly. “I could never leave you.”

Steve takes a deep breath, tightening his fingers in between Bucky’s and nods. He exhales slowly, letting the warmth of Bucky’s hand ground him. “Okay,” he says tentatively. “I — I didn’t like thinking about that.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Bucky says, kissing his forehead apologetically as he soothingly rubs his thumb over the inside of Steve’s wrist, right over the healing scar of Rumlow’s bite mark. “I’m _really_ sorry.”

“You can’t leave me,” Steve says, a surge of panic flooding through his veins. The sound of his heart beating erratically echoes in his ears.

“I’m not, sweetheart,” Bucky says, pained.

“Promise?”

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky replies, nodding vigorously. “I swear. I swear on my family.”

“Bucky — ” Steve says quietly, shocked.

“It’s true,” Bucky says, leaning back as he looks into Steve’s eyes. Steve knows that he probably looks ridiculous as he clings to Bucky, but he doesn’t care. Bucky’s here, and he's not _leaving_. “I promise. I meant what I said in the hospital, baby. I’m never leaving you again. You can’t get rid of me.”

Steve nods, his panic slowly starting to dispel. He takes a deep breath as he slowly starts to relax, his heartbeat returning to a steady thrum.

“I love you,” Bucky tells him, bringing both of his warm hands up to cup Steve’s face. “I’m so in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” Steve says, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “So much.”

Bucky tilts his head down and brings their lips together, and Steve’s entire body completely relaxes against Bucky’s chest. All of his anxiousness and apprehension completely vanishes as the electricity from Bucky’s kiss washes over him. He knows Bucky won’t leave him. He can feel it in his bones.

Bucky pulls away slowly after a few seconds, still so careful and cautious with Steve even when he knows that Steve can take it. He looks into Steve’s eyes anxiously, and Steve takes another steadying breath before he nods, and Bucky’s anxiety disappears from his face as he entwines their hands together again.

“Okay,” Steve says, grounding himself. He feels a little lightheaded from Bucky’s lips. “What things are you talking about? What have you figured out?”

“What exactly did Rumlow tell you?” Bucky asks, frowning.

Steve pauses for a second, thinking. His time with Rumlow is still a little hazy, and his doctor had told him that it’s perfectly normal that he doesn’t remember much of the finer details. According to his RN, his body was in a sort of self-preservation mode. He’d also been concussed when he was taken, due to the crash, so it was likely that he might not remember anything at all. Steve remembers the pain, though. That’s the one constant.

He also appreciates that Bucky’s not acting like he’s afraid Steve’s going to break down any second. Despite how overprotective Bucky may be, he knows that Steve is strong. He’s just trying to protect Steve from all of this, even if that means protecting Steve from himself.

“He read my mind,” Steve says suddenly, his forehead creasing. “The first time I woke up after he’d taken me, he knew I was having a nightmare about. . .some things that happened in Afghanistan.” He shakes his head, trying to focus. “He called it — like, _projecting_ or something like that.”

Bucky winces slightly, nodding. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“What is that?” Steve asks, giving Bucky a confused frown.

“It’s something all werewolves can do, although it’s not as easy to control when you’re bitten,” Bucky says, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s palm. “It basically allows for us to. . .influence someone’s mind. If we can project enough of ourselves into someone’s head, we can make them do anything we want.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Have you — ” he clears his throat. “Have you ever done that to me?”

Bucky shakes his head vigorously. “No,” he says decisively, his voice heavy with his denial. “I have never and will never do that to you. Your mind is yours. Wolfsbane interferes with that, too. If it’s in your system, a werewolf won’t be able to project into you.” He pauses, before adding, “I’ve gotten flashes of things from you before, especially when I haven’t been able to control myself. But I’ve never intentionally read your mind, and I’ve _never_ forced you to do anything.”

Steve nods bleakly. “Why didn't you tell me about that?” he asks anxiously. He feels like this is definitely something Bucky should have mentioned over the past _three and a half years_ that they’ve known each other.

“Honestly,” Bucky says, pausing. He runs a hand through his hair nervously before he sighs. “I haven’t done it in years. I haven’t even _thought_ about doing it in years. I don’t like knowing that I could make someone do things against their will. I haven’t projected onto someone since my family was murdered,” Bucky continues quietly, his voice slightly tight with tension. “But Rumlow projected onto you, which means that someone had to have taught him how to do it. It took me a long time to even be able to see things in my mind, let alone hear that person’s thoughts. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it. I honestly didn’t think it was even worth talking about. It’s not something I ever enjoyed doing.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Really, everything Bucky’s just told him makes a lot of sense. Bucky’s always been adamant that Steve’s decisions are his own. He’s always made sure Steve has made decisions based upon his own free will. He’d been furious with Rumlow for trying to force a bite on Steve, and he’d been absolutely infuriated when Rumlow had actually bitten him against his will. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want to do anything that would take away someone’s ability to think and act for themselves. No wonder he’s always been so adamant that Steve’s choices were his own to make.

“It’s okay,” Steve says finally, giving Bucky a small smile. “I do wish you would have told me about it, but I understand why you didn’t.” He pauses, then frowns. “Who do you think taught Rumlow how to do it?”

Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “Probably whoever gave him those wolfsbane bullets. Those aren’t easy to come by. I still feel like there’s something we’re missing when it comes to Rumlow.” His forehead creases. “He never mentioned anyone else to you, did he?”

“Not that I remember,” Steve says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Everything is still a little. . .” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders and making a small motion with his head.

“That’s okay,” Bucky says soothingly, bringing their entwined hands up to his mouth to press a reassuring kiss to the top of Steve’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s gone, now. We don’t have to worry about him ever again.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly, giving Bucky another small smile. He pauses, then gives Bucky a questioning tilt of his head, running his index finger over the inside of Bucky’s wrist. “What else aren’t you telling me?” he asks softly, keeping his voice steady and unassuming. He’s not trying to accuse Bucky of anything.

“Do you remember anything else about what he said to you?” Bucky asks, avoiding Steve’s question. He glances at their hands, carefully schooling his face into a blank expression.

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to remember. “He. . .” he trails off, frowning.

Rumlow had taunted him. He’d antagonized him, trying to show how strong he was. He’d threatened Steve over and over again, and when that wasn’t working, he’d threatened Bucky. _Killing you would wreck him_ , Rumlow’s voice echoes in his head. But there’d been something else, too. He’d tried taunting Steve in a way he’d expected it to hurt. _It’d be easy to take this territory from an Alpha that can’t even protect his mate._ Steve had thought that Rumlow was insulting him, trying to get him angry. He said that again, too, Steve realizes, furrowing his eyebrows. _I’ve kidnapped his mate,_ Rumlow had told him. He’d been confused when Steve hadn’t reacted the way he wanted. He’d been shocked, surprised that Steve had no idea what he was talking about.

He’d tried to provoke Bucky with it, too. _It came as a bit of surprise, sure, when I realized who he was,_ Rumlow had mocked _. And then I realized_ what _he was. What kind of Alpha can’t even protect his own mate?_ Mate.

Not boyfriend. Not partner. Mate.

“He called me your mate,” Steve says suddenly, confused. “He said it to me at the masquerade first. And then when he took me. And he said it to you when he was trying to trap you, like he was. . . taunting you or something.” He pauses, thinking. “He was surprised that I didn’t know what he meant.”

 _You don’t know. You don’t even_ know _._

“It was like he was trying to hurt me by bringing it up,” Steve continues, shaking his head. “I thought he was insulting me, but he was genuinely confused when I asked him what he was talking about. He did it to you, too,” he says, looking at Bucky with a frown. “He was taunting you with it, trying to use it against you.”

Bucky’s face twists up in a pained expression, and the shadows of his face seem to darken. He looks tormented, like he’s replaying everything Steve’s telling him in his head. Rumlow’s taunt might not have hurt Steve, he realizes, but it had hurt _Bucky_.

“What — ” he cuts himself off, his words dying on his tongue. “I mean. . .” he shakes his head. “What does that even. . .”

Wariness floods Bucky’s eyes as Steve catches his gaze, and the entire world seems to still as Steve watches him. He looks panicked, like he’s afraid Steve might run away from him, despite knowing that Steve can’t. His jaw is clenched tight, his muscles tense. He seems to straighten up slightly, like he needs to brace himself. Brace himself against _Steve_. He looks at Steve cautiously, his face guarded.

“You are my mate,” Bucky says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Mate,” Steve repeats quietly, testing the word on his tongue. “How. . .” he bites his lip, unsure. “What does that even _mean?”_

“A mate is. . .” Bucky starts, his voice strained. “A mate is a werewolf’s equal, their match in every way. It’s someone a werewolf completely gives themselves over to. Not just physically, but. . .” his pale skin flushes slightly, “emotionally, mentally. Someone their wolf resonates with. And someone who completely accepts all parts of them, too.”

Steve stares at him, taking a deep breath. “And. . .” his throat tightens. “That’s what I am to you?”

“Yes,” Bucky nods, his stoic face pulled taut with lingering pain. “A werewolf’s bond with their mate is really — ” he pauses, thinking. “Deep,” he settles on, wincing slightly at his words. Steve realizes a moment later that Bucky’s trying to explain this to him in a way he thinks Steve will understand, even though he’s not completely getting his point across. “It’s a bond that makes them so connected that it. . .goes deeper than love. It _is_ love, I mean,” he says, wincing again. “It’s just. . .kind of like the purest form of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks, trying to keep his voice steady, but he just can’t. He can’t wrap his head around all of this.

“I — ” Bucky starts, panic beginning to flash over his features. “I didn’t. . .” he inhales sharply, frustrated with himself. “It’s not something I could just come out and say, Steve. It’s. . .a big deal.”

Steve scoffs slightly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m starting to get that, Bucky. How could you keep something this big from me?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair again. “I didn’t want to keep it from you. I only just kind of realized it, Steve. I didn’t want to make you feel like. . .” he pauses again, trying to find the words. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped. Like you had to continue a relationship with me because of a bond that you don’t understand. It’s. . .”

He trails off, his body taut and guarded.

“You’ve known this the entire time? That I’m your mate?” Steve asks disbelievingly. “You’ve kept this from me for weeks. _Jesus Christ._ How long have you known?”

“Steve — ” Bucky says cautiously, and Steve can’t even wait for him to finish before he’s interrupting again. His mind is _spiraling_.

“Do you think that you have some kind of like — _claim_ on me? Is that what this is?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says harshly, shaking his head. “I don’t think that at all, Steve. Please, baby. I’m trying to explain — ”

“When were you going to tell me?” Steve cuts him off once more.

Bucky swallows, repeating, “Steve — ”

“ _When were you going to tell me_?” Steve repeats, his blood pounding in his ears.

“I don’t know, baby,” Bucky admits. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I read about it in my ma’s journal. But that was a few days before the masquerade, and then I saw you in your suit, and I couldn’t think about anything else. I was going to tell you after the ball.” He runs his hand over his face and sighs. “But then you were taken, and I. . .”

Steve watches as he swallows again, rubbing his hand over his lips. “Knowing that you were out there like that, and that I had no idea where you were. . .it was _awful_ , Steve. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Knowing that he was hurting you and that I couldn’t do anything to stop it _killed_ me. He had you, my mate, and it. . .I couldn't. . .”

“Rumlow said you wouldn’t be able to hurt him because he had me,” Steve says, biting the inside of his cheek. “That your instincts wouldn’t _let you_ hurt him.”

Bucky nods. “I can’t do anything that would put you in danger,” he says. “It’s like a visceral reaction. My wolf refuses to do anything to hurt you. I knew that if I moved to get to you, he’d snap your neck. I couldn’t get to you without risking your life, and I knew it, and so did he.”

“You read about it in your ma’s journal,” Steve says slowly. Bucky nods. “You didn’t know that I was your mate until you read about it?” he asks confusedly.

“No,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I think I did know. I grew up learning about mates and mating bonds. I’ve always felt differently about you than I have about anyone else. If _I_ didn’t realize you were my mate, my wolf did. My wolf chose you. It’s. . .” he pauses again. “It’s why I’ve always been more protective of you and. . .everything.”

“Then why. . .what things could you have avoided if you’d figured that out sooner, Bucky?”

“A bond between a werewolf and their mate,” Bucky starts, his forehead creasing. “It’s a bond so deep that it can’t be broken. It allows for mates to connect to each other. You and I, we’re. . .connected,” he finishes lamely, sighing. “It means that I can feel you. I can feel when you’re in danger, or if you’re in distress. But our bond. . .” he hesitates. “It’s different.”

“Why?” Steve asks, confused. “Because I’m a human?”

“That’s part of it,” Bucky nods tentatively. “But also because I’m an Alpha. Our bond could be stronger than a normal bond would be because I’m not a beta. It’s more intense. We would feel things more strongly.”

“Would?” Steve asks, his forehead creasing.

“Our bond isn’t complete,” Bucky says, running a hand over his face again.

“Oh,” Steve says. “Why isn’t it complete?”

Bucky grows even more tense. “In order for it to be completed, I’d have to bite you. That’s why I wanted to bite you when we were. . .” his cheeks flush again.

“That. . .didn’t have to do with how you can’t control your wolf?” Steve asks, beyond confused.

“No, it did,” Bucky sighs. “The entire reason I can’t control myself is because of our bond. It all kind of just clicked into place for me when Rumlow said that he’d been in my territory for weeks. My ma wrote that whenever she felt threatened, she’d be even more protective of my dad, her mate.” He glances at Steve with wary eyes. “She’d lose control of herself until she thought the threat was eliminated. I didn’t know that Rumlow was here, not until I smelled him on you, but I think my wolf did. My wolf knew that there was a threat against my mate, and I lost control of my shift because of it. The jealousy over Sharon, the overprotectiveness — it’s because my wolf was worried about protecting you, way before I even realized that there was something to be worried about.”

Steve’s silent for a second, processing that. “But you said that our bond isn’t complete. Why did you only start wanting to bite me when you smelled Rumlow’s scent on me?”

“I’m not completely sure,” Bucky says, giving a small shrug. “All of this. . .it’s kind of new to me, too. I grew up hearing about it, but. . .my parents were killed before they could really explain it to me. But I think I wanted to bite you then because my wolf knew that Rumlow was a threat to you. If I would’ve bit you, it would have completed our connection, and then I would have been able to sense wherever you were. It’s kind of like a beacon. I would’ve known you were hurt, and I would’ve been able to find where he’d taken you without needing to track you.”

Steve doesn’t say anything after that, just quietly sits on the couch as he looks down at his left wrist, at where Rumlow had bitten him, like he’ll find all of the answers to all of the questions he has written into his skin. He feels like Bucky’s just dropped a bomb on him, like his mind has been split wide open.

“When Rumlow threatened to bite me,” he starts, glancing up at Bucky, “why did he say that I would despise you?”

A pained look settles over Bucky’s features again. “The place where he bit you — ” he cuts himself off. “Do you remember when I told you that it means something to werewolves?”

Steve just nods blankly.

“When he threatened to bite you on your neck,” Bucky hesitates, swallowing, “it’s where I would bite you to complete our bond because I’m an Alpha. If he had bitten you there, it wouldn’t break our connection, but it would sort of nullify it.”

Steve thinks back to the way Bucky had panicked, had frozen completely as Rumlow had come dangerously close to biting his throat. He’d looked terrified, devastated.

“Where he bit you on your wrist,” Bucky continues, taking a deep breath, like the words are stuck in his throat. “That’s where a normal beta would bond themselves to their mates. He bit you there to turn you into a werewolf, but he also tried to _claim_ you. He tried to force a mating bond on you.”

Steve’s entire body tenses at the hatred in Bucky’s voice. He stills, and Bucky takes a steadying breath.

“He said that you would despise me because he thought that you’d belong to him. Sometimes, if a connection is strong enough, a mated pair can share their emotions. He hated me, and he was hoping that binding you to him would make you hate me, too.”

“I don’t,” Steve says immediately, shaking his head as his pulse begins to race. “I don’t, Bucky.”

“I know, baby,” Bucky says, tentatively reaching forward and running his thumb along Steve’s wrist. “I know you don’t.”

Steve nods, then moves his hand so he can entwine their fingers together. He needs the warmth of Bucky’s hand to ground him.

He takes a deep breath, nodding again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “But you reversed that bite.”

“Yes,” Bucky says, nodding. “He didn’t have the right to force that on you, especially without your consent. You don’t want to be a werewolf, and you didn't give him permission for any of it — trying to turn you or claim you. Mating bonds aren’t taken lightly. There needs to be consent from both partners. You have to completely accept the bond in order for it to take.”

“ _Take_?” Steve repeats.

“A mating bond can be rejected. It’s rare, but it could happen if the recipient of the bite doesn’t want it. When he bit you, your body started to reject it. That’s why it caused you so much — ” he pauses, taking another deep breath. “Caused you so much pain,” he finishes through clenched teeth.

“How did you reverse it?”

“I don’t really know how to explain that part,” Bucky admits softly, his rage reined in. “I used our connection to stop it. After you’d passed out from the pain, I pulled his claim out through your skin. It was. . .incredibly hard. Maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And it’s. . .a really big deal. I wouldn’t have been able to do that if our connection wasn’t. . .true.” He blushes. “Only the strongest Alphas are able to harness enough power to stop a bite like that. And it took a lot of my strength to do it. That’s why I was so weak. Sam took one look at me in that emergency room and knew something was wrong. I was already really weak from the wolfsbane that was in my system, but reversing the bite completely drained me. You had some of my strength in your veins, and our connection allowed for it to start healing you. That’s why you’re slowly healing.”

“Thank you,” Steve says weakly. “Thank you for doing that for me. I’m sorry that it took all of your strength to do it.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize, baby. He bit you against your will. He didn’t give you a choice.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Bucky rubs his thumb along Steve’s palm, still so tense and anxious that his movements are a little rough. Steve watches their hands for a few seconds, trying to sort through all of the new information in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for that ending! I promise that everything will be sorted out in the next chapter! 
> 
> To all of you guessing that Bucky and Steve were mates: lol you guys were right! More will be explained in this next update, and I promise everything will end happily! There's definitely some ~spice~ (lol) coming at you in the next chapter ;)
> 
> For your reading enjoyment, I listened to [this song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wvr8EIr0Tw) [this song,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SgmVhsXq0EQ) and [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjVjqPyRBFk) while I was writing this chapter! 
> 
> See you guys in a few days!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. So, this is it. The last chapter. I cannot believe we're finally at the end!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support for this story. It means so much to me that each and everyone of you took the time to follow this crazy journey until the end. Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments, praises, and kudos for this story. 
> 
> I'm definitely not letting these boys go anytime soon, and I'm in the process of writing (gasp) a sequel! I've gotten a few comments about potentially writing a prequel to this, and I'll most definitely do that most likely after I have finished the sequel. I've made this story part of a series now, and while this is the only story in it so far, make sure you subscribe to the series so you know when the sequel will be out! I'm planning on having it out (hopefully) by December(?) and I really hope that's not too long of a wait! I want to make sure it's perfect before I post it!
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading this enormous story. Words can't express how completely floored I am by the reaction to this work!
> 
> This is part two of the last chapter, and we've got a longer update this time, so buckle up and get ready for this finale! I hope you all enjoy this last chapter. This chapter is my favorite chapter! Enjoy!

_“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” — Judy Garland_

It takes Steve a few minutes to process through his jumbled thoughts. Bucky doesn’t say anything as he continues to eye Steve warily, the pinched look on his face darkening his guilty expression.

Steve, even as muddled as he is, can’t help thinking that he doesn’t feel like Bucky’s blindsided him by finally telling him all of this, even though a part of him is incredibly infuriated. Steve can’t believe that Bucky kept this from him for as long as he did. They’re _mates_. Steve doesn’t even really know what that means, or how he’s supposed to react to that. He doesn’t understand why Bucky would keep something this big from him.

He’s angry, but above that anger, Steve can’t help the relief that blossoms over his chest. Out of all of the things he’s been imagining in his head, finding out that he’s Bucky’s mate doesn’t even remotely amount to the horrific things he’s been thinking. He feels kind of like he’s been swimming through dark water, and it’s only now that he’s finally been able to breach the surface. An overwhelming sense of clarity settles over him.

Steve doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to act. Sure, he’s been imagining every worst case scenario possible about what Bucky wanted to tell him, but it had never crossed his mind — never even occurred to him — that Bucky was going to explain that they were mates, that they have such a deep connection, a connection of _love,_ between them that Bucky can feel when Steve’s in _danger._ And now that he finally knows. . .what is he even supposed to _do_ with that?

Steve’s never been able to explain how deeply he feels for Bucky, how fiercely he doesn’t want anyone to touch him, to hurt him. Steve’s never been able to feel that way about anyone else.

He’d known when he was looking at Bucky in that wolfsbane circle that if he didn’t do anything to stop Rumlow, Bucky would have bled out. Bucky had been injured, shot right in front of Steve’s eyes, and Steve had gone out of his mind — absolutely _insane_ — when he’d realized that Bucky could’ve been taken from him. Steve had pushed past his pain, had acted on instinct, on a drive to protect Bucky that had come from so deep inside of him. . .

So _deep in him_ —

That it had never occurred to him that maybe he was driven to protect Bucky, the person he loves most in this world, because he somehow _knew_ — could somehow _feel_ — that Bucky was his mate, too.

And Bucky had _known_ that. _Sam_ had known that. Bucky had known before they even cornered Rumlow at the ball. He’d known that Steve might react badly, because he _knows_ Steve. He knows how Steve thinks.

Steve gets it, then, why Bucky wouldn’t want to tell him. Bucky knows how Steve works; knows how he processes things. He knows that telling Steve that they’re mates might make Steve feel like Bucky’s trying to claim him, that Bucky’s trying to make Steve _belong_ to him, even after he’s always insisted that they’re equals.

But Bucky had still tried to explain everything to him, even after Steve had started to get angry. He’s _still_ trying to explain.

Learning that he and Bucky are mates. . .that’s something he hadn’t been expecting, but he knows that he’s always felt differently about Bucky than he ever has for anyone else. Steve doesn’t know the _why_ or the _how_ , but knowing that they share this bond together, that Bucky loves him so completely that the bond they have is _pure love_. . .well, it’s not like Steve didn’t already feel that way. He’s known for a long time that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Bucky. He’d known from the moment they’d been laying in Bucky’s apartment years ago, when he’d told Bucky that he was in love with him for the first time, and that he’d known that Bucky was in love with him, too, that he wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. He’d known when he’d looked into Bucky’s eyes and saw nothing but pure adoration in them, as if his gaze was saying _it’s you, it’s always been you_ , that Bucky had completely and irrevocably _ruined him_ for anyone else.

And, well, he’s still _angry_ — because Bucky knows better than to try to keep something this important from Steve — but, he supposes his instincts, his _love_ for Bucky, is answer enough, even if he was never asked the question that Bucky is very pointedly _not_ asking him.

Steve takes a deep breath after a few moments pass, and Bucky’s eyes snap to him immediately, like he’s waiting for any signs to tell him what Steve’s feeling. “I deserved to know all of that, Bucky,” Steve says slowly. “You shouldn’t have waited to tell me that.”

“I know,” Bucky says quietly. “I didn’t know how you would react, Steve. This isn't something you signed up for when we started a relationship. It’s. . .werewolves mate for _life_ , Steve. What I’m talking about is forever. Just because I’ll want you for the rest of my life doesn’t mean that your only option is to be with me.”

“You should have at least _given_ me that option instead of trying to hide it from me, Bucky. We don’t keep things from each other. Especially not something like this.”

“I know that, Steve,” Bucky says, and he sounds so guilty that Steve knows he means it.

“You decided that I wouldn’t want to be your mate before you even talked to me about it, Bucky. As far as I’m concerned, being your mate isn’t that different from what we already are to each other.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Bucky says immediately, shaking his head.

“Well, how am I supposed to know that, Bucky? You didn’t even _tell_ me,” Steve says, trying and failing to hide the slight anger that bubbles up inside of him.

“You think I didn’t _want_ to tell you? You think I haven’t been driving myself out of my mind so completely that I couldn’t even sleep because I was too busy wondering if I should just tell you, or _wait_ — or maybe take whatever pieces that you offered me and be happy with it? Or that maybe I should just let you go so I don’t continue to _put you in danger_ — ”

“I don’t want to hear this, Bucky. I don’t want to hear you explain how you _assumed_ that you knew best, that I couldn’t _handle_ it — ”

“I didn’t do that — ” Bucky tries, desperate.

“I don’t want to hear you tell me that you decided I was best kept in the dark while _Sam_ knew, while you _both_ decided what was right for me — ”

“Steve, I didn’t want to take your choice away, sweetheart.”

“You already did that when you decided not to tell me, Bucky,” Steve says, his anger rising. “We’ve had talks like these before. We’ve talked about marriage and stuff like that before. How is what you’re talking about any different than that?”

“I’m not talking about _marriage_ , Steve. It’s a bond. It can’t be broken. Marriage can end. If we did this, if we completed our bond, you and I would be tied together _completely forever._ ”

“I understand that, Bucky,” Steve says, frowning again.

“No, you _don’t_ , Steve,” Bucky says, his voice agonized. “A mating bond is _permanent_. It literally _cannot be undone_. What if you decide that you don’t want to be with me in five years? In ten years? Did you miss the part where I said forever?”

“Bucky, I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Steve says, frustrated. “You already know that. You’ve made up your mind, without even _consulting_ me, that you’re not going to be what I want forever. I know what forever means, Bucky. Don’t make decisions for me. I know what I want.”

“Steve. . .” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to make decisions for you, baby.”

The pain and sorrow in his eyes is so heavy that it threatens to crush Steve. His face is full of agony as he takes a deep breath.

“I want you to know that you have a _choice_. Our connection doesn’t affect you in the ways it affects me. If we did this, I would tie myself to you forever. You are my _mate_ , Steve. I will never be able to care for anyone like the way that I care about you. I will never _want_ anyone else the way I want you. I will never be able to love anyone the way that I love you. You are _it_ for me. The love of my life. It’s not the same way for you because you’re human. You could be with someone else. You could _love_ someone else. I can’t. . .I can’t complete our bond and trap you into this, into something that you never even wanted. That’s not fair to you at all. I won’t take that choice from you. You have a _choice_ , Steve, but I _don’t_.”

“Yes, Bucky, it’s _my_ choice. Please don’t make it for me. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I know what I want, Bucky, and what I _want_ is _you_. _For the rest of my life_. For the rest of _our_ lives. I’m in love with you, Bucky. I will never want anyone but you. You’re right,” he says, his breathing starting to pick up. “A mating bond isn’t something I’ve ever wanted.” Bucky flinches slightly at his words, but Steve continues. “But I didn’t even know that it was something that I _could_ want. And I _do_ , Bucky.”

“Steve — ” Bucky starts, pained, but Steve cuts him off.

“I have _always_ felt more for you than I have for anyone else. Love doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about you. The connection we have is so. . .” he trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know how I could put into words how deep I know it is. You — ” he takes a breath, feeling a little lightheaded again. “You consume me, Bucky. Your touch, your kiss — everything just completely makes me fall apart. I want _forever_ with you, but forever isn’t even enough. No amount of time would ever be enough for me to spend with you, because I want endless time — to make you happy, to make you laugh, to see you smile. I will love you until the day I die, Bucky. For as long as my heart beats in my chest, it’s _yours_. You have me, all of me, _completely_. How could you ever think that I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with you? Or that I could live a single day without you?”

Bucky stares at him, his eyes bright as they begin to water. He looks so. . .vulnerable. Steve could see it, then. He could see how Bucky had convinced himself that their mating bond would never be something that Steve would want. How he’d resigned himself to ignore how he’d felt, to avoid telling Steve because he was so afraid of losing him. How he hadn't let himself _hope_.

The hope in his expression is staggering. His eyes are full of longing, an anxiousness that Steve can feel in his heart. Bucky hadn’t expected to be allowed to _want_ , and now that Steve’s letting him. . .

Steve doesn’t think before he moves. He lifts himself up, feeling that wave of lightheadedness wash over him again, and, aware of every movement, of every breath, he slowly climbs into Bucky’s lap. His movements are slow and a bit clumsy, but Bucky’s hands automatically move to grasp his hips, so gentle and loving, to brace him as Steve straddles his waist. Steve brings his good hand up to gently caress Bucky’s cheekbone, and looks into his eyes.

“I love _you,_ Bucky. Every piece of my heart is yours. Forever. I’ll never leave you for someone else, because there will _never_ be anyone I love more than you.”

Bucky’s arms wrap around him tightly as he leans to press his forehead against Steve’s, his body shaking. Steve removes his hand from Bucky’s face to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, entwining his fingers in Bucky’s dark locks.

“I love you so much,” Bucky whispers against his lips, and Steve watches as a tear escapes Bucky’s eye. He sniffles, clearing his throat. “How could I ever convince myself that I could live without you?”

Steve inhales deeply, his senses overwhelmed. “You can’t get rid of me, Buck. Now you’re _really_ stuck with me.”

Bucky chuckles, a wet sound deep in his throat. His entire body shudders on what might have been a sob before his lips find Steve’s, and Steve’s heart beats rapidly against his ribcage as Bucky’s hands grip his waist.

His lips are soft, gentle. So soothing and grounding, so tender as Steve opens his mouth, letting Bucky’s tongue slip in, caressing his own. Steve can feel the heat behind their kiss, like the air around them has become stiflingly hot, charged from where they’re pressed against each other tightly.

Bucky pulls back slightly, his breath hot against Steve’s lips as he works to rein himself in. Steve looks up at him, at Bucky’s gleaming face, and gently moves his good hand out of Bucky’s hair to wipe his tears away.

“This is still your choice, baby,” Bucky says quietly, his voice still rough. “If you decide you don’t want this, we don’t have to do anything. We could spend the rest of our lives together without completing our bond at all, and that would be totally fine with me.”

“Is it — ” Steve cuts himself off, needing to take a deep breath to clear his head. “Is this something you can control?”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks softly, rubbing soft circles into Steve’s hips.

Steve tries not to blush. “You said that you don’t really have a choice in this,” he says, flushing in embarrassment despite himself. “You’re not being forced to be with me, are you?”

“No, baby,” Bucky says, immediately understanding what Steve’s trying to ask. “It’s not like that at all. I’m not really sure how everything works exactly,” he admits, “but you and I could both be with other people if we chose to.” He winces slightly. “It just wouldn’t. . .it wouldn’t feel _right,_ at least not to me. I would never be able to feel complete. It would always feel like half of me is missing. But you — you could probably be with someone and be completely fine. I’m not really sure how it works for humans.”

“So, you didn’t choose me to be your mate?” Steve asks confusedly.

“It’s more like my wolf did,” Bucky says hesitantly. “At some point in our relationship, probably around the same time I realized I was in love with you, my wolf decided that you were the one person it could completely give itself over to. You’re the only person in the world that my wolf trusts and loves entirely. And that extends to me, too. A mating connection is all based upon love. Our bond only started to form like that once I fell in love with you.”

“Is a mating bond something that happens for all werewolves? I mean. . .does every werewolf eventually find their mate?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. It typically involves realizing that you love that one person more than you will ever love anyone else. It’s a really big deal when a connection like that forms between werewolves. Not all werewolves are ever able to experience it. It’s not easy for a wolf to love someone, or to trust someone, that extensively or that deeply. A mating bond between a werewolf and a human is also incredibly rare, and even more so for a bond like ours.”

“Why is it so rare?” Steve asks.

“It’s. . .a really powerful connection. And ours is even stronger because I’m an Alpha. It’s not unheard of for an Alpha’s mate to be a human, it just. . .doesn’t happen very often,” Bucky finishes.

“So, you won’t ever feel this way about anyone else?”

“No,” Bucky says. “Only you. If you decided you didn’t want to be with me, I don’t think I would ever even consider starting another relationship. I don’t know if I could.”

“Why?”

“You would be out there with someone else,” he says, his face twisting up slightly as he tenses. “I don’t think I would ever be able to stop thinking about you, about someone who isn't me touching you, or _kissing_ you — ” he cuts himself off with a low growl. “To know that someone else gets to have you like that, to know that someone else gets to make you laugh, gets to make you smile. . .it would _kill_ me. I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, much less about starting a relationship with anyone who wasn’t you, who wasn’t my _mate_. I don’t think I could ever love anyone else now that I know what it’s like to love and be loved by you.”

Bucky shifts slightly, taking a deep breath.

“The thought of you being with anyone else completely tears me up inside,” he admits, inhaling sharply. “I don’t like thinking about it because it makes me so crazy. But if that’s what you wanted. . .if being with someone else was going to make you happy, I’d let you go. I wouldn’t stand in your way. The only thing I want more in this world than you is for you to be happy.”

“No one else makes me as happy as you do, Buck,” Steve says, leaning forward and pressing another kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I don’t like thinking about you with someone else, either. I was just asking because I want to make sure that this is something that you want, too.”

“It is,” Bucky replies. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to tell you so bad. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you until now. You’re still healing and everything and I just. . .didn’t want to distract you from getting better, baby. I was terrified you would run away from me. The only reason I told Sam was because it was killing me to keep everything bottled up like that. I _had_ to tell someone, but I was terrified to tell _you_.”

Steve nods, leaning forward and catching Bucky’s lips with his own again. He doesn’t need for Bucky to keep apologizing. He gets it.

“God, you can be so thick sometimes, you know that?” Steve asks him when he pulls back, and Bucky chuckles weakly. “You and Sam are the only two people I would never run away from. I’m so gone on you, you jerk. I can’t believe you thought I would ever run away from you.”

Bucky chuckles again, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“Why did you think I would run away?” Steve asks him quietly, letting Bucky gently pull him closer so he’s not putting any weight on his bad arm.

Bucky sighs softly, his lips curling into a frown. “I didn’t know how you would react to it. Finding out that we’re mates is. . .I don’t know what it’s like from your perspective. It’s so normal to me. But to someone who doesn’t know anything about it. . .” he trails off, furrowing his eyebrows. “It’s not got to be easy to understand. And I’m not. . .very good at explaining things. I thought you might feel like I was forcing you into it. I was afraid you’d feel trapped. And I guess. . .maybe a small part of me thought you might have thought that I wasn’t worth all of this. That our bond wasn’t worth all of the pain that I’ve caused you.”

“Bucky,” Steve says, shaking his head, “you haven’t caused me any pain, baby. If anything, all of this kind of makes a lot of sense to me, even if I still don’t completely understand it, yet. I’ve never felt this way before. You make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. I think a part of me has always known that my love for you was deeper than anything I’d ever felt before. Our bond. . .our _mating_ bond,” his cheeks color slightly. “I think I could always feel it, like it was a tether that bound me to you and you only. I never knew what that feeling meant before, or why I was feeling it. But our bond _is_ worth it, Bucky.” He leans his head forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I would go through everything — Rumlow, all of that pain, _everything_ — if it meant it brought me back to you again. _You’re_ worth it.”

Bucky surges forward and brings their lips back together again, and Steve feels his blood sing in his veins at the feel of Bucky against him. He arches into the kiss slightly, his pulse thrumming loudly in his ears.

They kiss for a moment, but Bucky doesn’t move to deepen it. His lips are light on Steve’s, cautious, even as Steve presses into him. He pulls back after a moment, his breathing heavy once more.

Steve looks away for a second, tearing his eyes away from Bucky’s cherry red mouth. He has to take another steadying breath before he can look back again.

“How does this work?” Steve asks as Bucky gazes into his eyes, running his hand over Steve’s thigh in a motion that Steve thinks is supposed to be reassuring. It doesn’t really do much besides make his skin feel flushed at the contact.

“How does what work?” Bucky asks.

“This,” Steve says, motioning between them with his head. “Us. Our,” he clears his throat, trying not to blush. “Our bond. Do you have to turn me for it to. . .take?”

“No,” Bucky says immediately, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what the rules are to this, Buck. You’re going to have to explain all of it to me.”

“There aren’t really _rules_ to it, baby,” Bucky says slowly, and Steve feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeling a little mortified.

“I’m not, baby,” Bucky says soothingly, shaking his head. He runs both of his hands over Steve’s thighs soothingly. “I promise. I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” Steve says, swallowing around his embarrassment. “What do we do now? How do we. . .proceed? Do we need to like — get married or something?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. It’s. . .if you’re sure you want to do this. . .” he trails off, and when Steve nods, he continues, “we have to complete our bond.”

_Oh_ , Steve thinks. Bucky has to bite him.

“We don’t need to get _married_ or anything. That’s — we don’t need to do _that_ ,” Bucky continues.

Steve feels himself frown slightly. “Do werewolves not. . .get married?” he asks slowly. He doesn’t really want to acknowledge how his stomach twists up at that thought.

Bucky’s quiet for a second, thinking, before he shakes his head again. “Werewolves mostly marry. But if they do find their mate. . .it’s different. Some werewolves wed without the mating bond, but if a werewolf finds their mate, the bond is so deep that marriage is. . .insignificant in comparison.”

_Insignificant_ , Steve thinks. He never thought that marriage could be _insignificant._

“Okay,” he says tentatively, swallowing. “So, completing our bond. . .”

Bucky gives him an encouraging nod, lightly running his hands down over Steve’s thighs soothingly.

“Are you going to bite me?” Steve asks quietly, feeling a little nervous at the thought even as he blushes.

Steve doesn’t expect the noise that Bucky makes deep in his throat. Not quite a growl, almost involuntary, but something heavy and wanton, like just the thought of biting Steve is enough to make his blood heat. His hands tighten on Steve’s thighs, and when Steve glances into his eyes, a little shocked, Bucky’s pupils are slightly dilated.

“Not — ” Bucky breathes out, his voice heavy. “Not yet,” he says slowly, almost to himself, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Steve.

“Why?” Steve asks, swallowing again.

“Um. . .” Bucky says slightly unintelligibly, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath, sounding a little unsteady. “In order for me to. . .do that,” he continues, flushing, “we need to be. . .intimate.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, heat flaring across his neck. He feels his stomach coil slightly.

“You’re still hurt,” Bucky says, again quietly, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “I don’t want to injure you further. I’m still not really in control of myself, baby.”

“And you won’t be until you bite me?” Steve finishes for him. Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, his cheeks darkening. He nods as he opens his eyes again.

“That’s part of it,” he says. “But it’s. . .very hard for me to concentrate when we’re together like that. I — I can’t think straight. You’re too much of a distraction for me. Mating like that, when I’m going to. . .bite you. . .can sometimes be. . .vigorous,” he averts his eyes slightly, his face a bright scarlet. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. I could accidentally crush you if I’m not careful enough, baby. You’re already hurt, Steve. I don’t want to injure you further.”

“You won’t, Buck,” Steve says softly, caressing his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone again. Bucky meets his gaze, cautious. “You could never hurt me. You’re always so gentle, baby.”

Steve gently traces Bucky’s bottom lip with his thumb as Bucky’s eyes darken, his breath catching in his throat.

“When you do bite me,” Steve says hesitantly, “will your bite turn me into a werewolf?”

“No,” Bucky says, swallowing. “It’s. . .a different type of bite. It won’t — won’t change you.”

Steve nods, a blush beginning to run down his neck. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Then I want you to bite me.” He leans down and gently presses their lips together before Bucky can respond, even as Bucky inhales sharply as his words.

Bucky’s hands grip him even tighter as Steve shifts in his lap, his body taut and tense as Steve’s thighs bracket his waist. His breathing turns uneven, sporadic and heavy as their lips move together.

They’ve both been starved of each other’s bodies for far too long. Steve can feel that tether between them as it seems to pull him in closer into Bucky’s warmth, like a beacon to his heart, and he knows Bucky can feel it, too. Steve moves his hand to tangle it in Bucky’s hair, his fingers beginning to tremble slightly as electricity from their kiss threatens to overwhelm him. He can feel how different everything is this time, how it’s so much _more_.

Bucky’s lips are soft and gentle against his, his tongue hot against Steve’s. He pulls away after a moment, his hands clenched into fists at Steve’s waist.

“Baby,” Bucky says heavily, his tone reproachful, like a warning, even as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Bucky. . .” Steve trails off quietly, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s.

“I’m afraid of what I could do to you,” Bucky mutters, his voice so low Steve can barely hear him.

“I’m not,” Steve replies, moving his bad hand up to gently stroke his fingers over Bucky’s jaw. Bucky inhales sharply, his eyes wild. “I’m _not_ , Bucky.”

He leans in again, his lips pressing softly against Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s hands grip the tops of his thighs quickly, unconsciously, as Steve slowly works his mouth against Bucky’s pulse point. Bucky tilts his head back, another involuntary gesture, as a low groan rumbles in his chest. Heat erupts down Steve’s spine, his lips insistent as he bites down lightly against Bucky’s throat.

Bucky’s hands trail up his sides slowly, the warmth of his fingertips seeping through the cotton of Steve’s t-shirt. Steve shivers at his delicate touch, at the feel of Bucky underneath him like this after weeks of dancing around each other. Steve feels how Bucky’s body seems to tremble slightly, an unconscious shake as he tries to keep himself reined in.

Steve runs his lips down Bucky’s neck, biting down gently as he reaches his collarbone. His angle is a little awkward, and he’s having trouble trying to keep himself balanced with only one hand buried in Bucky’s dark locks, but Bucky’s hands on him are steady, grounding him as he sucks a mark into Bucky’s neck. The mark disappears a second later as Bucky makes a noise low in his throat, like a gasp, and Steve’s heart stutters in his chest at the sound of it.

“Steve,” Bucky continues, his voice thick, a little breathless. Steve wants to make him _scream._

“Please,” Steve whispers against the skin beneath his mouth, tightening his fingers in Bucky’s hair. His own voice is heavy, his breath caught in his throat. He hasn’t felt Bucky’s hands on him in this way for weeks.

Steve can feel the way Bucky’s holding himself back, conflicted as he exhales sharply. Hearing Steve beg for him has always been his undoing. Steve knows it, too.

“Baby — ” Bucky repeats, and Steve pulls away from his collarbone so he can look up into Bucky’s eyes. The desire and lust burning in his beautiful gray irises as Steve meets his gaze makes Steve’s throat tighten.

“I know you’re scared, Buck,” Steve says quietly against Bucky’s lips, pressing another kiss to the side of his mouth. “But your fears. . .they aren’t mine, baby. I want you.” He leans forward, catching Bucky’s lips between his own, and bites softly on Bucky’s bottom lip. Bucky inhales sharply, and Steve pulls back, a blush on his cheeks as he repeats, “I want you to bite me.”

Bucky’s entire body shudders at Steve’s words, his breathing uneven again. He lifts his right hand up to gently cup Steve’s face, his warm fingertips hot against Steve’s flushed skin.

“You drive me crazy,” Bucky whispers, taking a deep breath. “I can’t hold myself back, baby. Not with you. You’re too much a temptation for me. If I start now, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, Steve.”

“Then don’t,” Steve replies, breathless. Bucky tilts his head down to run his nose down Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply as he goes. “We can go slow. We’ll be careful. I trust you, baby. I know how gentle you are. No one touches me the way you do. I want you so bad.” Steve can’t help the way he trembles against Bucky, his body wrought with anticipation. Heat floods his veins at Bucky’s soft touch, his head beginning to become hazy at the feel of Bucky’s lips against his skin. “ _Please_ , baby.”

He doesn’t mean for his words to come out as a breathless moan, an aching plea, but the effect on Bucky is immediate. His breath hitches, the muscles of his neck taut against Steve’s hand as he runs his mouth right below Steve’s ear.

“Steve. . .” Bucky whispers once more, shaking his head slowly, but it’s not a denial as his face, his lips, move back and forth across Steve’s throat, as his left hand slips under the bottom of Steve’s shirt to rub soothing circles against Steve’s bare skin, as the fingers of his right hand begin to entwine themselves in Steve’s hair. It’s a surrender. When Steve begs for him, it completely unravels Bucky’s insides. It’s always been his greatest weakness. Heat coils hotly in his abdomen, and he just can’t stop himself anymore, can't bring himself to deny what both of their bodies crave. Not when Steve’s begging for him like this. Not when he can _feel_ how much Steve’s aching for him.

Bucky’s fingers tighten in his hair as he gently pulls Steve’s head to the side, kissing down the long line of his throat. Steve shifts his hips, his arousal thrumming hotly in his veins as he tilts his head back to follow Bucky’s movements. Bucky’s mouth on his throat isn’t soft anymore, insistent but still so gentle. He bites down lightly right below Steve’s ear, on that sensitive spot, and Steve’s breath stutters in his chest, his pulse echoing in his ears.

Steve feels hot all over, his blood rushing heavily through his veins, so hot and scorching. When Bucky kisses up his neck again, Steve turns toward him, his breaths heavy. Bucky moves slowly with his indecision, still clearly conflicted but desperately wanting to give in to his desire, to both of their growing need for each other, and Steve twists his head until their lips meet.

There’s a desperation behind Bucky’s lips as they move together. His mouth is hot and insistent as he kisses Steve, like he’s aching for it. His hands are everywhere; on Steve’s hips, in his hair, trailing down Steve’s sides. Steve locks both of his arms around Bucky’s neck, careful not to put too much pressure on his broken arm, and, suddenly, Bucky’s overheated skin is _stifling_ against Steve’s as he trembles, so hot it feels like Bucky’s burning him. Every point of contact between them is charged; heady and jolting as Steve’s body shudders with the force of their yearning.

Steve opens his mouth to Bucky, his desire coiling in his stomach as he shifts his hips to move even closer to him. At once, he feels Bucky’s hard dick against his own, and he moans hotly in his throat, his head growing dizzy from the feel of Bucky pressed so intimately against him.

The sound of his moan snaps whatever leash Bucky has on himself, and, immediately, hands are gripping Steve’s thighs again, and Bucky easily scoops him up into his arms in one smooth movement, so gentle and soft and careful.

Bucky deepens their kiss, and Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, holding him closer. Both of his hands find their way to Bucky’s jaw, and he moves them hastily into Bucky’s hair as Bucky tears his lips from Steve’s mouth to devour his neck, where he drags his teeth and tongue down Steve’s throat as he shifts his body quickly.

Within a split second, Bucky’s gently laying him down onto their bed, moving so preternaturally fast that Steve’s brain is too slow to keep up with his movements. Bucky slides his hands underneath Steve’s t-shirt and moves them up to rub both of his thumbs over Steve’s nipples. Steve arches into the touch, moaning, and Bucky growls hotly as he abruptly rips Steve’s shirt down the middle, pulling the shredded scraps of the cotton off of Steve’s chest with a low noise.

Bucky leans back as he throws Steve’s ruined shirt behind him, taking a moment to run his eyes over Steve’s chest, both of them naked from the waist up now. The look on his face sends a thrill down Steve’s spine. Bucky’s looking at him like he’s going to _devour_ him. His gray eyes are full of heat, his cherry red mouth swollen from Steve’s lips. His cheeks are dark red, flushed from how worked up he’s gotten. Steve’s dog tags around his neck rise and fall with every heavy inhale and exhale, clinking slightly as they touch. His skin looks so smooth that it could be carved from marble. His muscles are pulled taut against the skin of his arms, bulging attractively as he runs his hands over Steve’s abdomen. He looks so incredibly gorgeous as he gazes down at Steve, so incredibly beautiful that nothing on this earth could ever compare to how he looks right now. He’s at once the stars and the moon, so dark and alluring. He’s the setting sun and the embers of a dying fire, burning so bright and hot. He’s everything Steve could ever want; all he could ever need.

Steve understands then, how Bucky feels — why he’ll never want anyone the way he wants Steve, why he’ll never love anyone the way he loves Steve. It’s the same for him, too. Bucky is alive in his heart, a space carved between the lines of Steve’s body that belongs only to him. He’s the air in Steve’s lungs. He’s the blood in Steve’s veins. And Steve wants him so badly, so _desperately_ , that he can feel the weight of it deep in his chest.

Steve reaches down and grabs Bucky’s wrist, impatient as Bucky’s eyes roam over his body, and tugs lightly. Bucky moves quickly, effortlessly climbing on top of him. He’s so incredibly careful as he climbs on top of Steve, cautious of his broken arm, of his still healing body. Steve lifts his good hand up to run his thumb over Bucky’s lips again, breathing heavily at Bucky’s heated gaze. That look sets his entire body alight.

Bucky’s lips find his again, and the fire in Steve’s veins burns as their lips collide. He moans into Bucky’s mouth as Bucky runs his tongue over Steve’s. He pants as Bucky presses his hips down, moving his body sinuously as he grinds down. He gasps brokenly when Bucky growls into his mouth and bites his bottom lip, a hint of a whimper reverberating through his lungs. He swallows Bucky’s groans when he runs his good hand down Bucky’s back and grips his ass, wrapping his bad arm around Bucky’s neck as he digs his fingers in and pulls.

Steve’s brain completely fizzles out when Bucky pulls away from him slightly and lowers his mouth down, sucking as he flicks his tongue out to lick over Steve’s nipple. Steve plunges the fingers of his good hand into Bucky’s hair, a broken groan escaping him as Bucky’s mouth works him over. All he can think about is the feel of Bucky’s tongue as Bucky moves onto his other nipple, his hands running over Steve’s chest like he can’t figure out where he wants to touch the most.

Bucky grinds his hips down again, unable to hold back his own arousal as he moans. Steve moves his hand down to Bucky’s waistband, desperate to feel his bare skin. He tries to hook his hand in, but his fingers are shaky and unsteady, and Bucky’s moving against him so sensually, every touch igniting his insides, that Steve’s having trouble focusing through his haze of lust to get his fingers where he wants them. He grips Bucky’s hip, digging his fingers in impatiently, but Bucky doesn’t move on top of him, just growls lowly as he brings his mouth up to crash into Steve’s.

The bare skin of Bucky’s chest is hot against his, and Steve moves his hand to grip Bucky’s face, to run his fingers up through Bucky’s hair as he pants. Bucky’s hands find his waist, and Steve can’t help but to thrust up into him as Bucky sinks his thumbs into Steve’s shorts and quickly pulls them off, a contrast to how he’d ripped Steve’s shirt off only moments ago. But now he’s completely bare, completely open. And Bucky’s mouth runs dry as he rubs his thumbs into Steve’s hip bones.

They’re both incredibly worked up now. Steve’s aching beneath Bucky, his want heavy in his heart. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out with his desire for Bucky, for Bucky’s hands on him, to feel Bucky pressed deep inside him. He’s trembling against Bucky’s chest, completely at his mercy as his swollen dick throbs against Bucky’s, still clothed in his own shorts.

“So beautiful,” Bucky says, his voice completely shot as his eyes run 0ver Steve. “Look at you. So fucking pretty.”

Steve makes a noise low in his throat, panting heavily as Bucky rubs over his thighs soothingly. Bucky’s grin is absolutely sinful as he meets Steve’s eyes.

“Okay, baby?” Bucky asks after a few seconds pass, genuine despite the heat in his eyes and the slight thickness of his voice. He’s probably worried that Steve’s going to work himself up too much, but Steve wants this. He doesn’t want Bucky to stop. Words aren’t coming to him right now, though, and all he can do is nod as Bucky leans forward and presses a sweet kiss to his mouth.

Bucky pulls back a moment later, moving to work his way down. He grips Steve’s thighs as he kisses down Steve’s chest, slowly spreading Steve’s legs apart even further. He bites over Steve’s abs, sucking marks over every inch of Steve’s abdomen. Steve pants below him, writhing against Bucky’s mouth. Bucky settles his face between Steve’s legs, and Steve’s breath hitches in his throat when Bucky gazes up into his eyes and kisses the place right below Steve’s aching dick, his entire body thrumming with anticipation. The look in Bucky’s eyes has his heart racing.

He gasps as Bucky hooks his hands below Steve’s thighs to move Steve’s legs over his shoulders, his face pressed in close to Steve’s tight hole. Bucky’s breath lightly caresses his entrance, and Steve shutters as his hole pulses at the feel of it. Bucky’s always loved the sounds Steve makes when his tongue is buried deep inside of him, and Steve can’t help but whimper as Bucky leans forward and presses a light kiss right above his entrance. Bucky growls again at the sound of his whimper, his eyes briefly bleeding that fluorescent red before he brings both of his hands up to cup over Steve’s ass.

The first feel of Bucky’s tongue on him makes Steve’s entire body erupt in molten fire, and he tilts his head back and moans brokenly as Bucky licks over him like he’s desperate for it.

Bucky growls approvingly at Steve’s moan, at his taste, and unleashes himself completely.

His tongue slides over Steve’s hole in wanton, great sweeping strokes that have Steve’s throat constricting tightly as heat pools between his thighs. He groans hotly as he buries the fingers of his good hand into Bucky’s hair, arching his back when Bucky delves his tongue in deep, fucking up into him.

Bucky circles his rim with his tongue slowly, then flicks it over the center of Steve’s entrance as his now normal gray eyes flicker up to watch Steve’s face. Steve bites down on his bottom lip and whimpers again, throwing his head back as he pants and tries not to fall apart. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly as wave after wave of arousal washes over him, his heart stammering in his chest as he shakes.

“Baby,” he moans brokenly, and when he looks down again, Bucky’s eyes are Alpha red once more, illuminating brightly in the setting sun of the evening. He looks _obscene_ between Steve’s legs, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face.

Steve blushes under his scrutinizing gaze, overcome with lust as Bucky’s piercing red eyes seem to tear right through him, like Bucky’s looking right into Steve’s heart, into his soul. He’s so hard against his abdomen, his dick leaking white against his stomach, over the bruises left by Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s mouth doesn’t relent as he fucks his tongue over Steve, and immediately Steve feels himself start to clench up around him, and he exhales a soft whine.

“Please,” Steve begs, not quite sure what he’s even asking for. He moans again, overcome with desire. “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky sucks on him deeply, and Steve moans, then gasps when Bucky darts the tip of his tongue against him, drawing thick circles and figure eights, then thrusts his tongue in and out as he fucks Steve’s insides with it. Steve writhes below him, desperately moaning and panting as he tightens his fingers in Bucky’s hair, not enough to hurt, but so that he can try to hold on as he shatters, completely overwhelmed.

Bucky’s groaning below him, making hot little noises as he draws Steve to the edge. His eyes are blown wide with lust, his hands gripping Steve’s thighs so gently that Steve feels his heart ache in his chest at the soft way Bucky’s touching him. He moans every time Steve thrusts his hips down needily, silently begging for more.

He feels like Bucky’s unraveling him, taking him completely apart until he’s laid bare, open and so, so vulnerable. Heat courses down his spine again, and he’s so fucking turned on that he can’t even think about anything anymore besides Bucky’s mouth, how much he wants him never to stop.

Steve’s arousal pushes steadfast in his veins, and the heat coiling in his abdomen lurches as he gasps, and he clenches around Bucky’s tongue again. “Bucky,” he says breathlessly, his entire body shuddering when Bucky growls hotly in response. “Fuck,” he pants, then tilts his head back as his orgasm thrums through him, whimpering low in his throat as he comes completely untouched.

Bucky pulls away from him after a moment, and Steve moans wantonly when he sees the spit on Bucky’s chin, sees the way Bucky’s straining against his own shorts. Steve feels a little lightheaded, panting heavily as he tries to calm himself down. Bucky’s making him feel so. . . _unhinged_.

“Baby,” Bucky says, his voice gentle but slightly hoarse as he moves to wipe his mouth. Steve looks into his eyes, taking another deep breath. Bucky’s panting, but there’s a concerned edge to his voice as he asks, “Still okay?”

Steve tilts his chin down, nodding, begging without words. “Yes,” he says breathily, but gives in a moment later. “Please,” he begs, swallowing. “Don’t stop. I want you.”

“Fucking hell, Steve,” Bucky groans. He crawls up Steve’s body, completely unbothered as Steve’s come catches on his chest, and crashes their lips together once more. Steve moans into his mouth as he arches into him, his body like a live wire of heat and want and desperation. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he asks against Steve’s lips.

“Buck,” Steve pants when Bucky pulls away to start mouthing over his throat, breathless. “You. _Please._ Just you. I need you.”

Bucky’s entire body shudders against Steve’s, and he growls again, his dick twitching in his shorts as he breathes heavily. He lifts his head out of Steve’s neck, panting, and looks into Steve’s eyes with a heated look. Steve brings his hand up to run through Bucky’s hair, and breathes out, “I need you inside me, baby. _Please._ I want you so bad.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as he groans, a low sound deep in his throat. He nods quickly, pulling back from Steve and quickly ridding himself of his shorts. His dick springs free, so red and aching, and the sight of him makes Steve’s mouth run dry. God, Steve wants him, wants every glorious inch of Bucky’s enormous dick buried deep inside of him, wants to claw right into Bucky’s skin until he doesn’t know where he begins and Bucky ends, wants their hearts to beat as one as their souls finally forge together.

His mate. His equal in all things. The one person he can’t ever live without.

Bucky’s on him again, his mouth hot against Steve’s. He grabs Steve’s thighs gently, and Steve easily maneuvers both of his legs around Bucky’s waist, wrapping them around Bucky’s back. He’s already desperate again, his need like a fire in his veins, despite his orgasm only minutes before. He can’t hold anything back anymore. His desire for Bucky is heavy in his heart, weighing him down in every inch of his body.

Bucky quickly grabs the lube on the nightstand closest to him, slicking up one of his fingers. Steve wants to tell him no, wants to tell Bucky that he’s ready, but Bucky’s finger gently circles against his rim, and Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat at the touch, and Bucky swiftly thrusts his finger in before he can so much as open his mouth.

Steve gasps at the feel of it, his dick twitching as Bucky immediately thrusts his finger deep inside of him. He’s lax enough from Bucky’s mouth that a second finger joins the other inside of him quickly, and Steve moans at the feel of them, at the slight stretch inside of him, at the dull ache.

Bucky’s fingers curl inside of him, and Steve’s hips twitch as he follows their movements, a whine escaping his throat when Bucky lightly brushes over his prostate. “Please,” he gasps brokenly, whining when Bucky curls his fingers again. “ _Bucky_.”

Bucky twists his fingers and scissors them once. Steve moans wantonly and arches his back.

“Fuck,” Bucky groans, and when Steve looks at him again, Bucky’s face is flushed red. “One more finger,” he says breathlessly, and Steve makes a noise, but he feels himself blush at the sound of Bucky’s voice. Bucky’s clearly just as affected as he is. “One more, baby. Let me take care of you first. And then I’ll give you what you want.”

Steve groans at Bucky’s words, but he nods, tightening his legs around Bucky’s waist. “Want you,” he says breathily, running his hand up Bucky’s arm. “I need you so much.”

“God,” Bucky says, his eyes roaming over Steve. “I need you too, baby. Just a little longer, okay?”

Steve nods again, saying breathlessly, “Are you stalling?”

The digits inside of him brush over his prostate again, and Steve moans as Bucky says, “Maybe a little.” Steve can’t help but to grin slightly. He’d figured as much. Bucky’s clearly a tad nervous about biting him, even though Steve can tell that Bucky’s also incredibly eager.

A third finger joins the ones inside of Steve carefully, and Steve feels himself whimper at the stretch as Bucky thrusts his fingers in deep. “Look at that,” Bucky continues hotly, eyes roaming over Steve again, and Steve blushes. “Feels like I’m dreamin’, sweetheart. You’re so perfect. So beautiful, my pretty baby. Can’t wait to be inside you.” Steve’s blush deepens as he moans at Bucky’s words, thrusting his hips to meet Bucky’s fingers. “But I’ve got to take care of you first. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

Steve pants as he writhes against the mattress, nodding, and Bucky growls lowly as Steve clenches around the fingers inside of him.

Bucky’s incredibly slow as he works Steve open, even as his own breathing is sporadic and heavy, his eyes dark red with lust. His swollen dick pulses every time Steve whimpers, and when all three of Bucky’s fingers graze up against his prostate, Steve throws his head back against the pillow and moans brokenly, his good hand clutching at Bucky’s back as his legs around Bucky’s waist tremble.

Very abruptly, Bucky suddenly stops moving his hand, and Steve inhales sharply as he glances up, confused by the sudden shift. He’s mildly shocked to find that Bucky looks almost like he’s hyperventilating, his breathing hard and heavy as his red eyes bleed a shade darker. The tip of his canines peak through his cherry red lips, and he backs away slightly, untangling himself from Steve’s body and pulling out his fingers, his muscles stiff.

“What — What’s wrong?” Steve stutters, his voice thick with lust as he works to control his breathing.

Bucky’s eyes are a tad wild as they meet Steve’s, and he runs a hand through his hair shakily, taking a deep breath. His pupils are so dilated that the rim of red is almost nonexistent.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his voice deep and heady. Steve tries not to shiver. “You, uh — ” Another shaky breath. “You bared your neck to me, and my wolf. . .”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at Steve until he shuts his eyes tightly. A moment later, his canines disappear slowly back into gums, and he opens his eyes slowly.

“I lost control of my wolf for a second. You,” he clears his throat. “You bared your neck to me and it. . .kind of made my wolf a little crazy.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, his cheeks flushing. “I — I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, baby,” Bucky says, his breathing heavy. “I got a little carried away.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” Steve asks timidly, shifting on the mattress.

“What?” Bucky asks, swallowing.

“I _want_ you to bite me, Bucky,” Steve says, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Bucky’s breath hitches again and his dick twitches against his thigh. He stiffens again, taking a steadying breath.

“I want to bite you, too,” Bucky tells him slowly, his voice heavy with lust.

Steve gulps around his dry tongue, inhaling deeply. “Then you have nothing to be worried about, Buck. You don’t have to hold yourself back from me. I want you, baby.” He reaches his good hand out and Bucky gently entwines their hands together, allowing Steve to pull him into his body again. Bucky’s dick brushes up against Steve’s entrance, and Steve gasps slightly, his blush deepening. He exhales slowly, trying not to sound breathless as he continues, “I want. . .I want all of you. Every part. Don’t hold back.”

Bucky exhales sharply as he leans down, bringing both of his hands to rest on either side of Steve’s throat. Slowly, he gives a tentative nod, and then their lips find each other again, and Steve feels him relax completely.

He settles himself between Steve’s legs again, and Steve automatically wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist once more, his body taut in anticipation.

He’s a little nervous now as he remembers what Bucky’s going to do to him. The last time canines had bitten into his flesh, it was the worst pain he’d ever felt. He wants Bucky to bite him, wants more than anything for Bucky to complete their bond, but he can’t help the slight apprehensiveness that floods through his body, anxious as Bucky gently strokes his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone.

Steve looks away quickly, slightly turning his head as a sliver of panic begins to seize his chest.

The shift from honey and cinnamon to sage hits Bucky like a punch to his face as he tries to catch Steve’s gaze, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he gently moves Steve’s head, redirecting his attention back on Bucky. Steve’s eyes are shy and tense as he looks back at Bucky, his breathing quick.

“Are you okay, baby?” Bucky asks gently.

Steve tries to take a deep breath, but it comes out sharp and stuttered. He swallows, running his hand over Bucky’s shoulder to try to ground himself.

“I — I’m nervous,” Steve admits, his blush turning even darker at his embarrassment.

“I’m nervous, too,” Bucky tells him quietly, exhaling slowly. “It’s. . .more intense than I expected.

Steve nods. He can feel how profound the air is between them, how powerful this moment is.

“We don’t have to do this, baby,” Bucky continues, giving Steve such an honest and open look that Steve’s heart clenches tightly in his chest. “We can wait. We don’t even have to do this at all. I don’t need for you to do this for me, sweetheart. All I need is you.”

Steve knows Bucky’s being genuine, so heartfelt and unassuming. If Steve asked him to stop, told him that he didn’t want to do this anymore, he knows that Bucky would immediately. He knows that Bucky would completely accept his decision, wouldn't push him at all, and would be incredibly understanding.

But that’s not what Steve wants. He wants Bucky, wants _this_. He’s just a little anxious.

“I want you, Buck,” Steve tells him, giving him a tentative smile. “I want to complete our bond. I’m just. . .nervous. But I don’t want you to stop.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks, apprehensive.

Steve nods. “Yeah, baby. I want to feel you.”

Bucky continues to look at him hesitantly, but Steve leans his face up and presses their lips together again. He tries to tell Bucky with his body what words aren’t, and he feels it the moment Bucky understands. Bucky relaxes against him, pushing his hips down lightly against Steve’s, and grinds down tantalizingly. Steve moans at the feel of him, letting himself get lost in the movements of their bodies.

It’s slow for a few moments, both of them moving against the other unhurriedly as they steadily work back towards their frantic pace. Within minutes, Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s shoulder impatiently, that familiar ache thrumming through him once more, and Bucky growls lowly, pulling away with one last dirty kiss to Steve’s lips.

Bucky looks at him carefully before he finds the discarded tube of lube somewhere off to the right side of Steve’s hips, then slicks himself up with a few strokes as Steve looks up at him heatedly through his eyelashes. He’s clearly just as eager as Steve is, tired of fighting against the desires his body craves, that both of their bodies crave.

He stops for a second, wiping his hand on the sheet before he brings both of his hands up to cup Steve’s face. Their lips collide again, and slowly, Bucky keens his hips forward.

Steve tenses instinctively at the first initial resistance of his muscles as the head of Bucky’s dick slowly pushes into him, but he inhales shakily, winding his fingers into Bucky’s hair again, and forces his body to relax.

Immediately, Bucky’s enormous dick slides into him in one swift motion, as easily as his fingers had. Steve feels his eyes roll back in his head at the fullness, at the feel of Bucky pressed so deeply inside of him. The beautiful stretch as Bucky tentatively pulls his hips back and then thrusts back in has Steve arching his back needily, pushing his chest up against Bucky’s as he moans wantonly.

One of Bucky’s hands slips down to grab onto Steve’s right thigh as Bucky groans hotly into Steve’s mouth. Bucky’s thick hardness feels hot inside of him, stretching him so deeply that Steve feels warm all over.

He can hardly breathe, hardly _think_ beyond where their bodies are joined together. Steve moves his hands from Bucky’s hair as he grips onto Bucky’s shoulders, pleasure shooting down his spine as Bucky snaps into him. He whimpers into Bucky’s mouth, feeling his body start to open to take Bucky in, as the heat inside him threatens to burn him from the inside out.

Bucky groans hotly as Steve’s legs shake around his waist. He thrusts in needily, into Steve’s tight heat, and brushes up against Steve’s prostate. Steve whimpers loudly, throwing his head back once more and disconnecting their lips as Bucky buries his face in Steve’s throat, his body trembling with the force of his desire.

Steve gasps as white hot pleasure erupts in his abdomen. He’s been aching for Bucky for what feels like months now. The way Bucky’s moving so deeply inside him — frantic, like he’s _aching_ for it — is slowly starting to drive him insane. He thinks back to the way Bucky had looked at him in his suit before the masquerade, how he’d trembled under Bucky’s heated stare. He thinks about how badly he _wants_ Bucky, how he’s never wanted anyone as much as he wants Bucky right now. He thinks about the way Bucky touches him, how no one will ever be able to touch him as gently or as softly as Bucky does. He whimpers at the way Bucky moves inside him, at the way Bucky’s holding him like he’s something precious and fragile.

It’s so overwhelmingly _emotional_ as their bodies move together. Part of Steve feels so overcome with pleasure that he feels like he’s convulsing with it, like he can’t handle it as his entire body spasms, but he also aches for _more_. Fire that sets Steve’s blood alight explodes between them, and Steve thinks he might break apart from not being able to get enough of Bucky as Bucky pulls out and plunges deep into him. Everything suddenly narrows down to where they’re joined so tightly together as the rising night ripples off of Bucky’s back, as the setting sunlight shimmers against Steve’s skin, as they merge together and blend, so enriching, so _powerful_.

Steve thinks he could die from this, from wanting Bucky so badly, from the pleasure of being with him.

Bucky drives him absolutely _crazy._

Love will never be a strong enough word for how Steve feels about Bucky, but right now, all he can think about is how much he loves Bucky, how much he constantly craves every inch of him. He doesn’t remember the exact time he fell for Bucky, just knew that Bucky would always be there to catch him. He doesn’t remember ever feeling like this — like he’s alive and breathing inside another person. He feels like he's dissolved into Bucky, so completely consumed by him that Bucky’s inside of him and breathing through his lungs, pumping blood through his heart, and he’s so fully in love with him, so desperately and achingly in love with him that he doesn’t even realize that there are hot tears in his eyes waiting to spill over. He’s so completely latched onto him, so completely _enthralled_ by him, that he can’t help but claw into the skin of Bucky’s back so that Bucky will never be able to shake him free, so that Bucky will never _want_ to shake him free.

They’re both not going to last much longer, not with the way everything feels so right between them, as Bucky presses hotly into his prostate. Desperation begins to creep back in again as their bodies move together, and Steve moans lowly, all breathy and beautiful, like a secret. His head spins as Bucky grinds deep into him, as Bucky gives his own whimper as he mouths at Steve’s throat, over his clavicle, at anywhere he can find.

Steve runs his good hand over Bucky’s right shoulder, pressing into Bucky’s bones and muscles with his palm, tracing them as he drags his nails across Bucky’s feverish skin and digs them in deeply. Bucky moans, every breath of air for Steve and Steve alone. It makes Steve’s own breath catch and stutter, a low whimper, as the sounds Bucky’s making carve themselves into the skin of Steve’s neck like a brand. Those sounds are stars and dreams and glimpses of their future together, only for him to reach out and touch, to close his fingers around and pluck from the sky. A beacon to Steve’s heart. A vision for only them to see.

Bucky’s lower back rolls as Steve drags his nails down, where he can feel the heat of Bucky’s skin culminate in his hips as he grinds deep into him and gasps brokenly. Steve feels like his skin is molten, pressed in so close to Bucky’s body as his eyes roll back in his head again from another caress against his prostate, breathless as he whimpers.

Bucky presses his lips into the hollow of Steve’s throat, moaning as his hips undulate. His noises are so low, so deep, but Steve can feel them inside his chest, composed of the air that fills his lungs. No breath is enough to keep Steve’s dizziness away, to make him stop whimpering, stop panting. The air never makes it to Steve’s brain, but it doesn’t matter. Every part of him is Bucky’s. Every part of him will _always_ be Bucky’s. He doesn’t need air. All he needs is _Bucky._

The world seems to come to an abrupt halt as the heat in Steve’s stomach lurches once more. He can feel it scorching and sizzling through his blood, can feel it in his veins, in his lungs. He can feel it all over. He’s close, and every movement of Bucky’s hips is drawing him closer.

Bucky kisses the spot where his neck meets his jaw, and suddenly, Steve can feel the sharpness that wasn’t there before, and can feel the way Bucky’s canines caress the skin of his throat. Waiting. Wanting.

“Steve,” Bucky moans, his thrusts never stopping as he brushes over Steve’s prostate with every stroke. Every cell in Steve’s body thrums at the way he sounds, so vulnerable and wanting, so _desperate_. He knows what it means.

“ _Please_ ,” Steve whimpers, bringing his hand up Bucky’s body to tangle back into his hair. He can feel it the moment Bucky snaps, can feel how Bucky’s control slips entirely as he brings a hand up into Steve’s hair and gently tilts Steve’s head to the side and _bites_.

Bucky’s hips don’t falter, don’t stop pounding into him, as he sinks his teeth into the skin of Steve’s throat. Steve doesn’t even have time to feel nervous again, doesn’t have time to prepare himself at all as the tears that have been welling in his eyes fall.

There isn’t any pain as Bucky bites him. There’s no fear, no blinding terror. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. There’s no name or definition that could ever explain how he feels. It’s mysterious and wondrous and magnificent. Mind numbing ecstasy washes over him as he releases a choked-off noise that’s halfway between a moan and a whimper. Every inch of his body burns and tightens at the feeling of pure love that seizes his heart and floods through his veins. Bucky was right — anything he’s ever felt before is insignificant to the heat that’s coursing through him, completely consuming every nerve, every _atom_ in his entire body.

It hits Steve then, right in his chest, how close he was to never being able to have this with Bucky. He almost _died_. _Bucky_ almost died. They could have never been able to give this to each other, never been able to know what this feels like. Bucky could have been taken from him, and the last thing he would've heard would be the sounds of Steve’s screams as he writhed in pain on that warehouse floor. Steve would’ve never known that he and Bucky were mates. He never would’ve known how deeply their love for each went. He never would’ve known what it would feel like to be loved so completely that it fills his entire body.

More tears fall down his cheeks. He’s helpless to do anything else besides try to draw Bucky in closer, to feel Bucky’s body against his, to feel that he’s alive and breathing.

Bucky pounds into him hard and fast, drawing out their pleasure until Steve can feel their bond clicking into place between them, like an unbreakable chain, an undimmable ray of light. With each pounding thrust, the bond grows clearer and brighter and stronger. Steve can feel and see and smell that bond between them, until their scents seem to _merge_ , and he is Bucky’s and Bucky is his, and they’re the beginning and middle and end. They’re a song that’s been sung from the very first ember of light in the world, so loud and bright but so trusted and intimate. Steve feels their mating bond shine clear and luminous between them as Bucky moans brokenly.

Release tears through Steve’s body, then, at once too soon and not soon enough. He clenches around Bucky’s dick as a shaky moan exhales through his lips, his entire body thrumming with his climax. He whimpers, “Bucky,” as he comes, overwhelmed as a fresh wave of tears falls from his eyes once more. Above him, Bucky tears himself away from Steve’s neck, growls as Steve becomes unbearably tight around him, and buries himself to the hilt. Steve gasps at the feel of him, at that stretch, and tightens his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky gasps brokenly against his lips. _“Steve,”_ he moans, his entire body shuddering as he comes deep inside of Steve’s body.

Silence overtakes them as they gaze into each other’s eyes, only interrupted by their panting breaths. Bucky’s eyes are radiant, still Alpha red as he looks into Steve’s eyes with pure love and adoration. His breaths are fast as he leans forward slightly, still buried so deep inside of Steve, and presses a light kiss to Steve’s lips.

Almost immediately, he pulls back quickly and gives Steve a concerned look, his stoic and beautiful face tentative.

“You. . .” he pauses, frowning as he pants. He leans forward, gently taking Steve’s face in his hands, and wipes away the remaining tears on Steve’s cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re crying.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment, panting as he tries to catch up to what Bucky’s saying. He feels like his head is full of cotton, and he’s starting to get a little lightheaded again. He loosens his grip in Bucky’s hair, boneless, and lets his hand slide to Bucky’s shoulder.

“ _I’m so sorry, Steve_. Oh my, _God_. Did I — ” Bucky cuts himself off, his eyes immediately dimming from Alpha red as he effortlessly retracts his canines, his control now finally his own. He pulls out of Steve completely, and Steve makes a noise in his throat at the feeling of emptiness that washes over him. Bucky’s face pales at the sound, and his grip on Steve’s face turns panicked. His gray eyes are tormented as he stares down into Steve’s eyes and asks brokenly, “Did I _hurt_ you?”

His voice cracks, and the sound of it clears through the remaining haze in Steve’s head, and he blinks blearily, inhaling deeply.

“I — ” Steve tries, but his voice is absolutely wrecked as he shakes his head. He swallows, then tries again. “No. No, baby. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Then why are you crying?” Bucky asks, his voice pleading even as his face twists into a pained expression.

“I — ” Steve cuts himself off again, inhaling sharply and sniffling. “I just. . .”

“Hey,” Bucky says concernedly yet softly, running his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks again. “Breathe, sweetheart. Talk to me, baby. What’s going on?”

Steve takes another deep breath. “I just. . .” He blows out a puff of air. “I just love you so much. And he tried to take you away from me. He almost killed you. I almost _lost_ you.”

“Stevie. . .” Bucky trails off, leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. “Baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. No one is ever going to take me away from you. I promise, sweetheart. I’m yours, baby. I’m right here.”

Steve sniffles again, lifting his hand off of Bucky’s shoulder and wrapping it around Bucky’s neck. He hugs Bucky tightly to his body as Bucky moves to bracket his arms around Steve’s sides. It’s too hot, and they’re both sticky, but Steve doesn’t care. He needs this. He needs to hold Bucky in his arms. He needs the weight of Bucky’s body to press him down into their bed and never let him up. He needs this reassurance.

“You’re mine,” Steve says quietly, another sniffle escaping him, and Bucky nods vehemently.

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky says softly into Steve’s ear. “I’m yours.”

Steve makes a noise in his throat, and Bucky gently tugs on him. Steve moves, and Bucky falls onto his back onto his side of the bed, tugging Steve along with him. Steve wraps both of his arms around Bucky’s neck, not caring if the pressure hurts his bad arm a little, and buries his face in Bucky’s throat.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around Steve’s back and starts rubbing his thumbs soothingly along Steve’s spine.

It’s quiet for a while, the sound of Steve’s sniffles the only sounds between them.

“You know,” Bucky says quietly into the silence after a moment, continuing to rub his fingertips over Steve’s skin, “when you were taken back into surgery, I almost completely lost it. They took you back into that operating room, and there were so many noises and sounds and conversations that I couldn’t — couldn’t hear your heartbeat anymore. It was. . .” he stops for a second, inhaling a shuddering breath. “It was _awful_. I couldn’t hear your _heartbeat_. It was so slow when I’d brought you into that emergency room, but I could still _hear it_. I could hear it get weaker and weaker and weaker, and then I just. . .couldn’t hear it anymore after they’d taken you away. And I thought — I thought maybe I’d lost you. That maybe I couldn’t hear it anymore because it had stopped beating. And just the thought of losing you, of not hearing your heartbeat anymore — ” Bucky inhales wetly, pausing. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever thought of, Steve.”

He takes in a shuddering breath again, clearing his throat. “I sat in that waiting room with Sam for hours, waiting for someone to tell me if you were alive or not. And then when a doctor finally came to tell me what was going on, he told me that they were having trouble getting your heart to keep beating, that you had _stopped breathing_. I have never _in my life_ felt that kind of terror before, Steve. Not even when I’d watched that house burn down with my family inside of it. It was a different kind of terror, then, but what I felt when they told me that you just wouldn’t stop coding. . .” he trails off, swallowing. “You’d stopped _breathing,_ Steve. Your heart had stopped _beating_. And I couldn’t do anything to help you. _Not one goddamned thing._ I spent the majority of that day just. . .waiting. Waiting for someone to come tell me that I’d lost you. That for the second time in my life, I’d lost _everything_ again. I could feel my heart breaking. I could feel my wolf starting to mourn. And then Sam helped me get those wolfsbane bullets out, and then I thought about how strong you are, about how much I needed you to stay alive. I knew you were scared in that warehouse. I knew you were in pain, that you were suffering, but you were _still_ trying to get to me, trying to _save me_ , even when you knew that I wasn’t going to be able to save _you_. And it hit me, then, how so incredibly _strong_ you are. You told me that you would always fight for me, but I need you to know that I’ll always fight for you, too. I couldn’t hear your heartbeat in that waiting room, but I could _feel_ you. I could feel you holding on. You are _so strong_ , Steve. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I can’t put into words how thankful I am that you’re alive. _I love you so much_. Nothing will ever take me away from you. And I swear to you, baby, I will _never_ leave you again.”

Something in Steve completely shatters as he makes a tiny fragile sound in his throat, and then he starts sobbing all over again. Bucky can feel Steve’s tears as Steve nuzzles his face even further into his neck. He shakes with the weight of his sobs, finally letting everything out. Bucky knows he’s not crying because he’s sad. Even though he can feel the way Steve’s shaking in his arms, he knows that Steve’s not upset. Steve’s crying because he’s _relieved_. He’s crying because he finally _understands_.

It’s almost comical, the way Bucky’s comforting Steve right now because Steve was so scared of losing him when Bucky’s always been the one that was terrified that Steve would be taken away from him. One of Bucky’s greatest fears has now morphed into one of Steve’s. But they never have to worry about that again, Steve thinks resolutely. They’re together, and Steve knows that Bucky won’t let anyone rip them apart ever again.

Steve’s not sure how long they stay like that, but eventually his body stops trembling, and Bucky’s hands have gently moved from cradling his back to soothingly run over the expanse of his shoulders. It feels nice, and the warmth of his hands is calming. Steve completely relaxes into Bucky, sniffling yet again.

“I felt it,” Steve says quietly, minutes or hours later, his throat hoarse from his sobs as he takes another deep breath. Bucky doesn’t have to ask to understand what Steve’s telling him. He looks up into Bucky’s eyes, giving him a reassuring smile. His eyes are glassy and red, but Bucky smiles anyway, even though his eyes shine with concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, sweetheart,” Bucky replies softly, his face a tad grim. “You scared for me a minute there, baby. I thought I — ”

“You didn’t,” Steve assures him, gently cutting him off. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m okay, Buck.”

“Okay?” Bucky repeats, his eyes narrowing.

“Better than okay,” Steve says quickly, bringing his good hand up to pull Bucky’s face towards him. He feels weak all over and his muscles are aching, but he’s so fucking happy and relieved. “I. . .don’t really know how to explain it. That was. . .”

He trails off, unable to form the words. He doesn’t think he could even begin to explain how he feels right now.

“I know,” Bucky says quietly, lifting his head up so he can lean his forehead against Steve’s. “I feel it, too.”

“The bond?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “No,” he says, leaning up and pressing a light kiss to Steve’s lips. “I feel you.”

Steve gasps lightly as a slight flicker pulls at his stomach. He smiles, running his thumb over Bucky’s jawline. “I feel you, too.”

The grin on Bucky’s face is blinding as he leans up again, catching Steve’s lips with his own. Steve feels his breath stutter in his chest as their mouths meet, the tether between them sweltering.

He pulls away after a moment, out of breath, and says quietly, “Everything was just. . .very intense. I think I just got a little overwhelmed. It felt amazing, Buck. And I just. . .started thinking about how close we were to never having it. But I promise you, Bucky, I loved every minute of it. Your bite. . .”

Bucky nods in understanding. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you mean. It definitely was. . .a lot more than what I was expecting. A lot _better_ than I was expecting. I can feel you so _clearly_ now. Like you’re an extension of my body, of my _wolf_. Maybe. . .”

He closes his eyes briefly, and Steve feels another small tug in his stomach, and his breath hitches a little. Then, inside his head, Bucky’s voice says softly _I love you_.

Steve gasps, gaping at the sound of Bucky’s low tenor in his head. He sounds so clear, so realistic, that he could have whispered the words into Steve’s ear and Steve wouldn’t have known the difference.

“What. . .” he trails off, breathless. “Are you projecting onto me? Are you reading my mind?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No,” he says softly, smiling. “I spoke to you through our bond.”

“That’s. . .” Steve trails off again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Too much?” Bucky asks, his smile dimming slightly.

“No,” Steve says, running his hand over Bucky’s cheekbone again, smiling. “That’s amazing.”

Bucky smiles, pressing Steve’s body down into his and connecting their lips. Steve feels heat flicker in his stomach once more, his breath hitching. He moans into Bucky’s mouth, at the taste of him, and Bucky opens his mouth for Steve, letting him brush their tongues together as Bucky scrapes his own tongue across Steve’s teeth. Everything feels electric again, that need bubbling up inside of him once more.

Bucky bites his bottom lip lightly, and Steve moans lowly in his throat. Bucky pulls back quickly, a blush on his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice heavy once more. “It’s the — frenzy,” he continues, motioning in the air with his hand. “When mates accept the mating bond, it’s. . .overwhelming. I’m just feeling very. . .attuned to you right now. Sometimes, newly mated couples don’t leave their homes for a few days. Both of them feel very protective over the other, and sometimes, they both get so volatile that it can be dangerous for them to be out in public, anyway. My ma wrote in her journal that when she and my dad had just mated, another woman looked at him for too long, and she. . .completely lost it. Luckily, that woman was another werewolf, so she healed after a few days.”  
  
Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes, shocked. He’d forgotten that wounds from an Alpha werewolf took longer to heal when inflicted upon another werewolf, but _still_. . .

At Steve’s wide-eyed look, Bucky quickly adds, “I like to think that I have more restraint than that, but. . . please be patient with me if I’m a little on edge. I. . . can’t really think about anything but you right now.”

That, at least, is familiar to him. Bucky is always a little on edge if anyone else looks at Steve for too long.

“You’re not going to leave my side then, are you?” He’s only somewhat teasing. The thought of having Bucky near him like this, so close and so easily accessible, is already starting to make him a little hot again.

“I wasn’t going to, anyway. I’m not going to leave you when you’re hurt and still healing, and especially not when we’ve just. . . _mated_ ,” Bucky says, running one of his hands through Steve’s hair. His eyes run over Steve’s body again, over the glistening skin of his chest, and he bites his bottom lip before looking back up into Steve’s eyes with a teasing smile. “But, honestly, all I want to do is to stay in this bed with you and fuck you until we’re both hoarse from screaming too loud,” he continues, and immediately, Steve’s ready for him, aching to feel Bucky deep inside of him again.

He whimpers, and Bucky’s lips are on him once more.

He makes it as far as wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck before Bucky easily flips them over, holds him down, presses him into the mattress, and makes love to him, slow and deep, well into the early hours of the next morning.

Later, much later, when they’re both too exhausted to do anything more than lay together — at least, for the time being — they hold each other in silence. Sometimes, they don’t need words. Sometimes, this is enough. Sometimes, all they need is _this_ , where Bucky just holds Steve in his arms as they both begin to drift off to the sounds of each other’s heartbeats and runs his hands softly through Steve’s hair and promises him the world without words.

Sometimes, this is exactly what they need. For minutes. Hours. For as long as they need to cling to each other like two halves of the same heart.

Just the two of them — just two souls — entwining in the dark. Forever.

And for the rest of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad this is the end, but stay tuned for the sequel as described in the beginning notes! Make sure you subscribe to this series to get notified when I post the next story!
> 
> Some things to look forward to in the sequel: Bucky's full backstory (including how he became the Alpha), Steve's time in Afghanistan (including how he and Coulson met), even more heat and spice (lol), one and/or more characters finding out about Bucky's secret (*laughs evilly*), drama (so much drama!), even more detective and casework (especially now that Pierce is being investigated), and maybe even. . .a proposal? Stay tuned!
> 
> And, as always, for your reading enjoyment, I listened to a few songs while writing this chapter that I really feel are essential to understanding the vibe I wanted to give off for this update, especially during that mating scene ;)! [Here's the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jf6aw9y9MzU) I listened to while writing the latter half of this chapter, and I couldn't decide between [this,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bCFYgdX6NA) [this,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4VU-AwxzSY) [this,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FP-ygTxtMz8) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVJp307TNTY) for the song I wanted to play during that mating scene ;)
> 
> Goodbye for now, everyone! See you (hopefully) in December! :)


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